ARIZONA    NIGHTS 


Called  him  out  and  shot  him  in  the  stomach 


ARIZONA  NIGHTS 

BY 
STEWART  EDWARD  WHITE 


Illustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth 
GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1907,  ly  TJie  McCLure  Comp 


Published,  October,  1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by  The  Outing  Publishing  Company 


To 
CAPTAIN   W.  H.  McKITTRICK 

OF   THE   J    H 

IN  MEMORY  OF  MANY 
ARIZONA  NIGHTS  AND  DAYS 


247987 


CONTENTS 

PART    I 
AEIZONA    NIGHTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  OLE  VIRGINIA           .          .         ,.,         .  3 
II.  THE  EMIGRANTS     .          .          .          .,         .17 

III.  THE  REMITTANCE  MAN  ....  40 

IV.  THE  CATTLE  RUSTLERS   .          .         ,.,         ,.  67 
V.  THE  DRIVE    ........  90 

VI.  CUTTING  OUT          .....         .  108 

VII.  A  CORNER  IN  HORSES       .          .          .         ...  125 

VIII.  THE  CORRAL  BRANDING  ....  145 

IX.  THE  OLD  TIMER     .....  156 

X.  THE  TEXAS  RANGERS       .          .          .          .162 

XI.  THE  SAILOR  WITH  ONE  HAND  .          .          .  167« 

XII.  THE  MURDER  ON  THE  BEACH  .         ,.,         .  179 

XIII.  BURIED  TREASURE   .           .          .          .          .  189 

XIV.  THE  CHEWED  SUGAR  CANE       .,         ,.,          .  203 

XV.  THE  CALABASH  STEW       .          .,         ,.,          .  210 

XVI.  THE  HONK-HONK  BREED         .,         ,«         t. 


PART    II 
THE  Two-GuN  MAN 

I.  THE  CATTLE  RUSTLERS   .          ..         m         ,.,     241 
II.  THE  MAN  WITH  NERVE   .          .         ...         „     249 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  pAa]K 

III.  THE   AGREEMENT    ......  #54 

IV.  THE  ACCOMPLISHMENT     .          .          .          .  261 


PART    III 
THE  RAWHIDE 

I.  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  COLT'S  FORTY-FIVE     .  269 

II.  THE  SHAPES  OF  ILLUSION         .          .          .  277 

III.  THE  PAPER  A  YEAR  OLD            .                     .  288 

IV.  DREAMS          ......  287 

V.  THE   ARRIVAL          .          .          ,..          .          .  292 

VI.  THE  WAGON  TIRE  .         ..         ,.          .         ..  299 

VII.    EsTRELLA           ..,.,...  306 

VIII.  THE  ROUND-UP       .         ..         ,.          .          .335 

IX.  THE  LONG  TRAIL  .          .          .         ,.          .319 

X.  THE   DISCOVERY      .         ..,         ,.         ,.          .  326 

XI.  THE  CAPTURE         ..         ,.         ,.         ,.          .  331 

XII.  IN  THE  ARROYO      ......  337 

XIII.  THE  RAWHIDE         .....  340 

XIV.  THE  DESERT                     ,.,  346 


PART   I 
ARIZONA    NIGHTS 


CHAPTER    ONE 

THE    OLE    VIRGINIA 

THE  ring  around  the  sun  had  thickened  all  day  long, 
and  the  turquoise  blue  of  the  Arizona  sky  had  filmed. 
Storms  in  the  dry  countries  are  infrequent,  but 
heavy;  and  this  surely  meant  storm.  We  had  ridden 
since  sun-up  over  broad  mesas,  down  and  out  of 
deep  canons,  along  the  base  of  the  mountains  to 
the  wildest  parts  of  the  territory.  The  cattle  were 
winding  leisurely  toward  the  high  country;  the  jack 
rabbits  had  disappeared;  the  quail  lacked;  we  ^  id 
not  see  a  single  antelope  in  the  open. 

"  It's  a  case  of  hole  up,"  the  Cattleman  ventured 
his  opinion.  "  I  have  a  ranch  over  in  the  Double 
R.  Charley  and  Windy  Bill  hold  it  down.  We'll 
tackle  it.  What  do  you  think?  " 

The  four  cowboys  agreed.  We  dropped  into  a 
low,  broad  watercourse,  ascended  its  bed  to  big  cot- 
tonwoods  and  flowing  water,  followed  it  into  box 
canons  between  rim-rock  carved  fantastically  and 


4  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

painted  like  a  Moorish  facade,  until  at  last  in  a 
widening  below  a  rounded  hill,  we  came  upon  an 
adobe  house,  a  fruit  tree,  and  a  round  corral.  This 
was  the  Double  R. 

Charley  and  Windy  Bill  welcomed  us  with  soda 
biscuits.  We  turned  our  horses  out,  spread  our  beds 
on  the  floor,  filled  our  pipes,  and  squatted  on  our 
heels.  Various  dogs  of  various  breeds  investigated 
us.  It  was  very  pleasant,  and  we  did  not  mind  the 
ring  around  the  sun. 

"  Somebody  else  coming,"  announced  the  Cattle 
man  finally. 

"Uncle  Jim,"  said  Charley,  after  a  glance. 

A  hawk-faced  old  man  with  a  long  white  beard 
and  long  white  hair  rode  out  from  the  cottonwoods. 
He  had  on  a  battered  broad  hat  abnormally  high 
of  crown,  carried  across  his  saddle  a  heavy  "  eight 
square "  rifle,  and  was  followed  by  a  half-dozen 
lolloping  hounds. 

The  largest  and  fiercest  of  the  latter,  catching 
sight  of  our  group,  launched  himself  with  lightning 
rapidity  at  the  biggest  of  the  ranch  dogs,  promptly 
nailed  that  canine  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  shook 
him  violently  a  score  of  times,  flung  him  aside,  and 


THE     OLE     VIRGINIA  5 

pounced  on  the  next.  During  the  ensuing  few  mo 
ments  that  hound  was  the  busiest  thing  in  the  West, 
He  satisfactorily  whipped  four  dogs,  pursued  two 
cats  up  a  tree,  upset  the  Dutch  oven  and  the  rest 
of  the  soda  biscuits,  stampeded  the  horses,  and  raised 
a  cloud  of  dust  adequate  to  represent  the  smoke  of 
battle.  We  others  were  too  paralysed  to  move.  Uncle 
Jim  sat  placidly  on  his  white  horse,  his  thin  knees 
bent  to  the  ox-bow  stirrups,  smoking. 

In  ten  seconds  the  trouble  was  over,  principally 
because  there  was  no  more  trouble  to  make.  The 
hound  returned  leisurely,  licking  from  his  chops 
the  hair  of  his  victims.  Uncle  Jim  shook  his  head. 

"  Trailer,"  said  he  sadly,  "  is  a  little  severe." 

We  agreed  heartily,  and  turned  in  to  welcome 
Uncle  Jim  with  a  fresh  batch  of  soda  biscuits. 

The  old  man  was  one  of  the  typical  "  long  hairs." 
He  had  come  to  the  Galiuro  Mountains  in  '69,  and 
since  '69  he  had  remained  in  the  Galiuro  Mountains, 
spite  of  man  or  the  devil.  At  present  he  possessed 
some  hundreds  of  cattle,  which  he  was  reputed  to 
water,  in  a  dry  season,  from  an  ordinary  dishpan. 
In  times  past  he  had  prospected. 

That  evening,  the  severe  Trailer  having  dropped 


6  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

to  slumber,  he  held  forth  on  big-game  hunting  and 

dogs,  quartz  claims  and  Apaches. 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  very  close  calls?"  I 
asked. 

He  ruminated  a  few  moments,  refilled  his  pipe 
with  some  awful  tobacco,  and  told  the  following 
experience : 

In  the  time  of  Geronimo  I  was  living  just  about 
where  I  do  now;  and  that  was  just  about  in  line 
with  the  raiding.  You  see,  Geronimo,  and  Ju,1  and 
old  Loco  used  to  pile  out  of  the  reservation  at 
Camp  Apache,  raid  south  to  the  line,  slip  over  into 
Mexico  when  the  soldiers  got  too  promiscuous,  and 
raid  there  until  they  got  ready  to  come  back.  Then 
there  was  always  a  big  medicine  talk.  Says  Geronimo : 

"  I  am  tired  of  the  warpath.  I  will  come  back 
from  Mexico  with  all  my  warriors,  if  you  will  escort 
me  with  soldiers  and  protect  my  people." 

"  All  right,"  says  the  General,  being  only  too 
glad  to  get  him  back  at  all. 

So,  then,  in  ten  minutes  there  wouldn't  be  a  buck 
in  camp,  but  next  morning  they  shows  up  again, 
each  with  about  fifty  head  of  hosses. 
1  Pronounced   "  Hoo." 


THE     OLE     VIRGINIA  7 

"  Where'd  you  get  those  hosses  ?  "  asks  the  Gen 
eral,  suspicious. 

"  Had  'em  pastured  in  the  hills,"  answers  Geron- 
imo. 

"  I  can't  take  all  those  hosses  with  me ;  I  believe 
they're  stolen !  "  says  the  General. 

"  My  people  cannot  go  without  their  hosses,"  says 
Geronimo. 

So,  across  the  line  they  goes,  and  back  to  the  res 
ervation.  In  about  a  week  there's  fifty-two  frantic 
Greasers  wanting  to  know  where's  their  hosses.  The 
army  is  nothing  but  an  importer  of  stolen  stock,  and 
knows  it,  and  can't  help  it. 

Well,  as  I  says,  I'm  between  Camp  Apache  and  the 
Mexican  line,  so  that  every  raiding  party  goes  right 
on  past  me.  ^The  point  is  that  I'm  a  thousand  feet 
or  so  above  the  valley,  and  the  renegades  is  in  such 
a  devil  of  a  hurry  about  that  time  that  they  never 
stop  to  climb  up  and  collect  me.  Often  I've  watched 
them  trailing  down  the  valley  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 
Then,  in  a  day  or  two,  a  squad  of  soldiers  would 
come  up  and  camp  at  my  spring  for  a  while.  They 
used  to  send  soldiers  to  guard  every  water  hole  in 
the  country  so  the  renegades  couldn't  get  water. 


8  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

After  a  while,  from  not  being  bothered  none,  I  got 
to  thinking  I  wasn't  worth  while  with  them. 

Me  and  Johnny  Hooper  were  pecking  away  at 
the  Ole  Virginia  mine  then.  We'd  got  down  about 
sixty  feet,  all  timbered,  and  was  thinking  of  cross- 
cutting.  One  day  Johnny  went  to  town,  and  that  same 
day  I  got  in  a  hurry  and  left  my  gun  at  camp. 

I  worked  all  the  morning  down  at  the  bottom  of 
the  shaft,  and  when  I  see  by  the  sun  it  was  getting 
along  towards  noon,  I  put  in  three  good  shots, 
tamped  'em  down,  lit  the  fusees,  and  started  to  climb 
out. 

It  ain't  noways  pleasant  to  light  a  fuse  in  a  shaft, 
and  then  have  to  climb  out  a  fifty-foot  ladder,  with 
it  burning  behind  you.  I  never  did  get  used  to  it. 
You  keep  thinking,  "  Now  suppose  there's  a  flaw  in 
that  fuse,  or  something,  and  she  goes  off  in  six  sec 
onds  instead  of  two  minutes  ?  where'll  you  be  then  ?  " 
It  would  give  you  a  good  boost  towards  your  home 
on  high,  anyway. 

So  I  climbed  fast,  and  stuck  my  head  out  the  top 
without  looking — and  then  I  froze  solid  enough. 
There,  about  fifty  feet  away,  climbing  up  the  hill  on 
mighty  tired  hosses,  was  a  dozen  of  the  ugliest  Chiri- 


THE     OLE     VIRGINIA  9 

eahuas  you  ever  don't  want  to  meet,  and  in  addition 
a  Mexican  renegade  named  Maria,  who  was  worse 
than  any  of  'em.  I  see  at  once  their  hosses  was  tired 
out,  and  they  had  a  notion  of  camping  at  my  water 
hole,  not  knowing  nothing  about  the  Ole  Virginia 
mine. 

For  two  bits  I'd  have  let  go  all  holts  and  dropped' 
backwards,  trusting  to  my  thick  head  for  easy  light 
ing.  Then  I  heard  a  little  fizz  and  sputter  from  below. 
At  that  my  hair  riz  right  up  so  I  could  feel  the  breeze 
blow  under  my  hat.  For  about  six  seconds  I  stood 
there  like  an  imbecile,  grinning  amiably.  Then  one 
of  the  Chiricahuas  made  a  sort  of  grunt,  and  I  sabed 
that  they'd  seen  the  original  exhibit  your  Uncle  Jim 
was  making  of  himself. 

Then  that  fuse  gave  another  sputter  and  one  of 
the  Apaches  said  "  Un  dah."  That  means  "white 
man."  It  was  harder  to  turn  my  head  than  if  I'd  had 
a  stiff  neck ;  but  I  managed  to  do  it,  and  I  see  that 
my  ore  dump  wasn't  more  than  ten  foot  away.  I 
mighty  near  overjumped  it;  and  the  next  I  knew  I 
was  on  one  side  of  it  and  those  Apaches  on  the  other. 
Probably  I  flew ;  leastways  I  don't  seem  to  remember 
jumping. 


10  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

That  didn't  seem  to  do  me  much  good.  The  rene 
gades  were  grinning  and  laughing  to  think  how  easy 
a  thing  they  had;  and  I  couldn't  rightly  think  up 
any  arguments  against  that  notion — at  least  from 
their  standpoint.  They  were  chattering  away  to 
each  other  in  Mexican  for  the  benefit  of  Maria.  Oh, 
they  had  me  all  distributed,  down  to  my  suspender 
buttons!  And  me  squatting  behind  that  ore  dump 
about  as  formidable  as  a  brush  rabbit ! 

Then,  all  at  once,  one  of  my  shots  went  off  down  in 
the  shaft. 

"  Boom ! "  says  she,  plenty  big ;  and  a  slather  of 
rocks  and  stones  come  out  of  the  mouth,  and  began 
to  dump  down  promiscuous  on  the  scenery.  I  got 
one  little  one  in  the  shoulder-blade,  and  found  time 
to  wish  my  ore  dump  had  a  roof.  But  those  rene 
gades  caught  it  square  in  the  thick  of  trouble.  One 
got  knocked  out  entirely  for  a  minute,  by  a  nice  piece 
of  country  rock  in  the  head. 

"  Otra  vez !  "  yells  I,  which  means  "  again." 

"  Boom ! "  goes  the  Ole  Virginia  prompt  as  an 
answer. 

I  put  in  my  time  dodging,  but  when  I  gets  a 


THE     OLE     VIRGINIA  11 

chance  to  look,  the  Apaches  has  all  got  to  cover, 
and  is  looking  scared. 

"  Otra  vez !  "  yells  I  again. 

"  Boom !  "  says  the  Ole  Virginia. 

This  was  the  biggest  shot  of  the  lot,  and  she  surely 
cut  loose.  I  ought  to  have  been  half-way  up  the  hill 
watching  things  from  a  safe  distance,  but  I  wasn't. 
Lucky  for  me  the  shaft  was  a  little  on  the  drift,  so 
she  didn't  quite  shoot  my  way.  But  she  distributed 
about  a  ton  over  those  renegades.  They  sort  of  half 
got  to  their  feet  uncertain. 

"  Otra  vez ! "  yells  I  once  more,  as  bold  as  if  I 
could  keep  her  shooting  all  day. 

It  was  just  a  cold,  raw  blazer;  and  if  it  didn't  go 
through  I  could  see  me  as  an  Apache  parlour  orna 
ment.  But  it  did.  Those  Chiricahuas  give  one  yell 
and  skipped.  It  was  surely  a  funny  sight,  after  they 
got  aboard  their  war  ponies,  to  see  them  trying  to 
dig  out  on  horses  too  tired  to  trot. 

I  didn't  stop  to  get  all  the  laughs,  though.  In  fact, 
I  give  one  jump  off  that  ledge,  and  I  lit  a-running. 
A  quarter-hoss  couldn't  have  beat  me  to  that  shack. 
There  I  grabbed  old  Meat-in-the-pot  and  made  a 


12  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

climb  for  the  tall  country,  aiming  to  wait  around 
until  dark,  and  then  to  pull  out  for  Benson.  Johnny 
Hooper  wasn't  expected  till  next  day,  which  was  lucky. 
From  where  I  lay  I  could  see  the  Apaches  camped 
out  beyond  my  draw,  and  I  didn't  doubt  they'd  visited 
the  place.  Along  aboilt  sunset  they  all  left  their 
camp,  and  went  into  the  draw,  so  there,  I  thinks,  I 
sees  a  good  chance  to  make  a  start  before  dark.  I 
dropped  down  from  the  mesa,  skirted  the  butte,  and 
angled  down  across  the  country.  After  I'd  gone  a 
half  mile  from  the  cliffs,  I  ran  across  Johnny  Hoop 
er's  fresh  trail  headed  towards  camp ! 

My  heart  jumped  right  up  into  my  mouth  at  that. 
Here  was  poor  old  Johnny,  a  day  too  early,  with  a 
pack-mule  of  grub,  walking  innocent  as  a  yearling, 
right  into  the  hands  of  those  hostiles.  The  trail 
looked  pretty  fresh,  and  Benson  's  a  good  long  day 
with  a  pack  animal,  so  I  thought  perhaps  I  might 
catch  him  before  he  runs  into  trouble.  So  I  ran  back 
on  the  trail  as  fast  as  I  could  make  it.  The  sun  was 
down  by  now,  and  it  was  getting  dusk. 

I  didn't  overtake  him,  and  when  I  got  to  the  top 
of  the  canon  I  crawled  along  very  cautious  and  took 
a  look.  Of  course,  I  expected  to  see  everything  up  in 


THE     OLE    VIRGINIA  13 

smoke,  but  I  nearly  got  up  and  yelled  when  I  see 
everything  all  right,  and  old  Sukey,  the  pack-mule, 
and  Johnny's  hoss  hitched  up  as  peaceful  as  babies 
to  the  corral. 

"That's  all  right!"  thinks  I,  "they're  back  in 
their  camp,  and  haven't  discovered  Johnny  yet.  I'll 
snail  him  out  of  there." 

So  I  ran  down  the  hill  and  into  the  shack.  Johnny 
sat  in  his  chair — what  there  was  of  him.  He  must 
have  got  in  about  two  hours  before  sundown,  for 
they'd  had  lots  of  time  to  put  in  on  him.  That's  the 
reason  they'd  stayed  so  long  up  the  draw.  Poor  old 
Johnny!  I  was  glad  it  was  night,  and  he  was  dead. 
Apaches  are  the  worst  Injuns  there  is  for  tortures. 
They  cut  off  the  bottoms  of  old  man  Wilkins's  feet, 
and  stood  him  on  an  ant-hill 

In  a  minute  or  so,  though,  my  wits  gets  to  work. 

"Why  ain't  the  shack  burned?"  I  asks  myself, 
"  and  why  is  the  hoss  and  the  mule  tied  all  so  peace 
ful  to  the  corral?" 

It  didn't  take  long  for  a  man  who  knows  In j  ins 
to  answer  those  conundrums.  The  whole  thing  was  a 
trap — for  me — and  I'd  walked  into  it,  chuckle-headed 
as  a  prairie-dog! 


14  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

With  that  I  makes  a  run  outside — by  now  it  was 
dark — and  listens.  Sure  enough,  I  hears  hosses.  So 
I  makes  a  rapid  sneak  back  over  the  trail. 

Everything  seemed  all  right  till  I  got  up  to  the 
rim-rock.  Then  I  heard  more  hosses — ahead  of  me. 
And  when  I  looked  back  I  could  see  some  Injuns  al 
ready  at  the  shack,  and  starting  to  build  a  fire  out 
side. 

In  a  tight  fix,  a  man  is  pretty  apt  to  get  scared  till 
all  hope  is  gone.  Then  he  is  pretty  apt  to  get  cool  and 
calm.  That  was  my  case.  I  couldn't  go  ahead — there 
was  those  hosses  coming  along  the  trail.  I  couldn't 
go  back — there  was  those  In j  ins  building  the  fire. 
So  I  skirmished  around  till  I  got  a  bright  star  right 
over  the  trail  ahead,  and  I  trained  old  Meat-in-the- 
pot  to  bear  on  that  star,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
when  the  star  was  darkened  I'd  turn  loose.  So  I  lay 
there  a  while  listening.  By  and  by  the  star  was  blotted 
out,  and  I  cut  loose,  and  old  Meat-in-the-pot  missed 
fire — she  never  did  it  before  nor  since — I  think  that 
cartridge • 

Well,  I  don't  know  where  the  In  j  ins  came  from, 
but  it  seemed  as  if  the  hammer  had  hardly  clicked  be 
fore  three  or  four  of  them  had  piled  on  me.  I  put  up 


THE     OLE     VIRGINIA  15 

the  best  fight  I  could,  for  I  wasn't  figuring  to  be 
caught  alive,  and  this  miss-fire  deal  had  fooled  me  all 
along  the  line.  They  surely  had  a  lively  time.  I  ex 
pected  every  minute  to  feel  a  knife  in  my  back,  but 
when  I  didn't  get  it  then  I  knew  they  wanted  to  bring 
me  in  alive,  and  that  made  me  fight  harder.  First  and 
last  we  rolled  and  plunged  all  the  way  from  the  rim- 
rock  down  to  the  canon-bed.  Then  one  of  the  In j ins 
sung  out: 

"Maria!" 

And  I  thought  of  that  renegade  Mexican,  and  what 
I'd  heard  about  him,  and  that  made  me  fight  harder 
yet. 

But  after  we'd  fought  down  to  the  canon-bed,  and 
had  lost  most  of  our  skin,  a  half-dozen  more  fell  on 
me,  and  in  less  than  no  time  they  had  me  tied.  Then 
they  picked  me  up  and  carried  me  over  to  where 
they'd  built  a  big  fire  by  the  corral. 

Uncle  Jim  stopped  with  an  air  of  finality,  and 
began  lazily  to  refill  his  pipe.  From  the  open  mud 
fireplace  he  picked  a  coal.  Outside,  the  rain,  faithful 
to  the  prophecy  of  the  wide-ringed  sun,  beat  fitfully 
against  the  roof. 


16  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  That  was  the  closest  call  I  ever  had,"  said  he 
at  last. 

"  But,  Uncle  Jim,"  we  cried  in  a  confused  chorus, 
uhow  did  you  get  away?  What  did  the  Indians  do 
to  you?  Who  rescued  you?  " 

Uncle  Jim   chuckled. 

"  The  first  man  I  saw  sitting  at  that  fire,"  said  he, 
"  was  Lieutenant  Price  of  the  United  States  Army, 
and  by  him  was  Tom  Horn. 

"'What's  this?'  he  asks,  and  Horn  talks  to  the 
In j ins  in  Apache. 

" '  They  say  they've  caught  Maria,'  translates 
Horn  back  again. 

"  *  Maria  nothing ! '  says  Lieutenant  Price.  '  This 
is  Jim  Fox.  I  know  him.' 

"  So  they  turned  me  loose.  It  seems  the  troops  had 
driven  off  the  renegades  an  hour  before." 

"  And  the  Indians  who  caught  you,  Uncle  Jim  ? 
You  said  they  were  Indians." 

"  Were  Tonto  Basin  Apaches,"  explained  the  old 
man — "government  scouts  under  Tom  Horn." 


CHAPTER     TWO 

THE    EMIGRANTS 

AFTER  the  rain  that  had  held  us  holed  up  at  the 
Double  R  over  one  day,  we  discussed  what  we  should 
do  next. 

"  The  flats  will  be  too  boggy  for  riding,  and  any 
way  the  cattle  will  be  in  the  high  country,"  the 
Cattleman  summed  up  the  situation.  "  We'd  bog 
down  the  chuck-wagon  if  we  tried  to  get  back  to  the 
J.  H.  But  now  after  the  rain  the  weather  ought  to 
be  beautiful.  What  shall  we  do?  " 

"Was  you  ever  in  the  Jackson  country?"  asked 
Uncle  Jim.  "  It's  the  wildest  part  of  Arizona.  It's  a 
big  country  and  rough,  and  no  one -lives  there,  and 
there's  lots  of  deer  and  mountain  lions  and  bear. 
Here's  my  dogs.  We  might  have  a  hunt." 

"  Good !  "  said  we. 

We  skirmished  around  and  found  a  condemned 
army  pack  saddle  with  aparejos,  and  a  sawbuck 
saddle  with  kyacks.  On  these  we  managed  to  condense 
our  grub  and  utensils.  There  were  plenty  of  horses, 

IT 


18  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

so  our  bedding  we  bound  flat  about  their  naked  bar 
rels  by  means  of  the  squaw-hitch.  Then  we  started. 

That  day  furnished  us  with  a  demonstration  of 
what  Arizona  horses  can  do.  Our  way  led  first 
through  a  canon-bed  filled  with  rounded  boulders 
and  rocks,  slippery  and  unstable.  Big  cottonwoods 
and  oaks  grew  so  thick  as  partially  to  conceal  the 
cliffs  on  either  side  of  us.  The  rim-rock  was  mys 
terious  with  caves;  beautiful  with  hanging  gar 
dens  of  tree  ferns  and  grasses  growing  thick  in  long 
transverse  crevices;  wonderful  in  colour  and  shape. 
We  passed  the  little  canons  fenced  off  by  the  rustlers 
as  corrals  into  which  to  shunt  from  the  herds  their 
choice  of  beeves. 

The  Cattleman  shook  his  head  at  them.  "  Many 
a  man  has  come  from  Texas  and  established  a  herd 
with  no  other  asset  than  a  couple  of  horses  and  a 
branding-iron,"  said  he. 

Then  we  worked  up  gradually  to  a  divide,  whence 
we  could  see  a  range  of  wild  and  rugged  mountains 
on  our  right.  They  rose  by  slopes  and  ledges,  steep 
and  rough,  and  at  last  ended  in  the  thousand-foot 
cliffs  of  the  buttes,  running  sheer  and  unbroken  for 
many  miles.  During  all  the  rest  of  our  trip  they  were 


THE    EMIGRANTS  19 

to  be  our  companions,  the  only  constant  factors  in 
the  tumult  of  lesser  peaks,  precipitous  canons,  and 
twisted  systems  in  which  we  were  constantly  involved. 

The  sky  was  sun-and-shadow  after  the  rain.  Each 
and  every  Arizonan  predicted  clearing. 

"  Why,  it  almost  never  rains  in  Arizona,"  said 
Jed  Parker.  "And  when  it  does  it  quits  before  it 
begins." 

Nevertheless,  about  noon  a  thick  cloud  gathered 
about  the  tops  of  the  Galiuros  above  us.  Almost  im 
mediately  it  was  dissipated  by  the  wind,  but  when  the 
peaks  again  showed,  we  stared  with  astonishment  to 
see  that  they  were  white  with  snow.  It  was  as  though 
a  magician  had  passed  a  sheet  before  them  the  brief 
instant  necessary  to  work  his  great  transformation. 
Shortly  the  sky  thickened  again,  and  it  began  to 
rain. 

Travel  had  been  precarious  before;  but  now  its 
difficulties  were  infinitely  increased.  The  clay  sub 
soil  to  the  rubble  turned  slippery  and  adhesive. 
On  the  sides  of  the  mountains  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  keep  a  footing.  We  speedily  became  wet,  our 
hands  puffed  and  purple,  our  boots  sodden  with  the 
water  that  had  trickled  from  our  clothing  into  them. 


20  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  Over  the  next  ridge,"  Uncle  Jim  promised  us, 
"  is  an  old  shack  that  I  fixed  up  seven  years  ago. 
We  can  all  make  out  to  get  in  it." 

Over  the  next  ridge,  therefore,  we  slipped  and 
slid,  thanking  the  god  of  luck  for  each  ten  feet 
gained.  It  was  growing  cold.  The  cliffs  and  pali 
sades  near  at  hand  showed  dimly  behind  the  falling 
rain ;  beyond  them  waved  and  eddied  the  storm  mists 
through  which  the  mountains  revealed  and  concealed 
proportions  exaggerated  into  unearthly  grandeur. 
Deep  in  the  clefts  of  the  box  canons  the  streams  were 
filling.  The  roar  of  their  rapids  echoed  from  in 
numerable  precipices.  A  soft  swish  of  water  usurped 
the  world  of  sound. 

Nothing  more  uncomfortable  or  more  magnificent 
could  be  imagined.  We  rode  shivering.  Each  said  to 
himself,  "  I  can  stand  this — right  now — at  the  pres 
ent  moment.  Very  well ;  I  will  do  so,  and  I  will  refuse 
to  look  forward  even  five  minutes  to  what  I  may  have 
to  stand,"  which  is  the  true  philosophy  of  tough 
times  and  the  only  effective  way  to  endure  discomfort. 

By  luck  we  reached  the  bottom  of  that  canon 
without  a  fall.  It  was  wide,  well  grown  with  oak 
trees,  and  belly  deep  in  rich  horse  feed — an  ideal 


THE  EMIGRANTS  21 

place  to  camp  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  a  thin 
sheet  of  water  a  quarter  of  an  inch  deep  was  flowing 
over  the  entire  surface  of  the  ground.  We  spurred 
on  desperately,  thinking  of  a  warm  fire  and  a  chance 
to  steam. 

The  roof  of  the  shack  had  fallen  in,  and  the  floor 
was  six  inches  deep  in  adobe  mud. 

We  did  not  dismount — that  would  have  wet  our 
saddles — but  sat  on  our  horses  taking  in  the  details. 
Finally  Uncle  Jim  came  to  the  front  with  a  sugges 
tion. 

"  I  know  of  a  cave,"  said  he,  "  close  under  a  butte. 
It's  a  big  cave,  but  it  has  such  a  steep  floor  that  I'm 
not  sure  as  we  could  stay  in  it ;  and  it's  back  the  other 
side  of  that  ridge." 

"  I  don't  know  how  the  ridge  is  to  get  back  over — 
it  was  slippery  enough  coming  this  way — and  the 
cave  may  shoot  us  out  into  space,  but  I'd  like  to  look 
at  a  dry  place  anyway,"  replied  the  Cattleman. 

We  all  felt  the  same  about  it,  so  back  over  the 
ridge  we  went.  About  half  way  down  the  other  side 
Uncle  Jim  turned  sharp  to  the  right,  and  as  the 
"  hog  back  "  dropped  behind  us,  we  found  ourselves 
out  on  the  steep  side  of  a  mountain,  the  perpendicu- 


22  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

lar  cliff  over  us  to  the  right,  the  river  roaring  sav 
agely  far  down  below  our  left,  and  sheets  of  water 
glazing  the  footing  we  could  find  among  the  boulders 
and  debris.  Hardly  could  the  ponies  keep  from  slip 
ping  sideways  on  the  slope,  so  as  we  proceeded 
farther  and  farther  from  the  solidity  of  the  ridge 
behind  us,  we  experienced  the  illusion  of  venturing 
out  on  a  tight  rope  over  abysses  of  space.  Even  the 
feeling  of  danger  was  only  an  illusion,  however,  com 
posite  of  the  falling  rain,  the  deepening  twilight, 
and  the  night  that  had  already  enveloped  the  plunge 
of  the  canon  below. 

Finally  Uncle  Jim  stopped  just  within  the  drip 
from  the  cliffs. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  he. 

We  descended  eagerly.  A  deer  bounded  away  from 
the  base  of  the  buttes.  The  cave  ran  steep,  in  the 
manner  of  an  inclined  tunnel,  far  up  into  the  dimness. 
We  had  to  dig  our  toes  in  and  scramble  to  make  way 
up  it  at  all,  but  we  found  it  dry,  and  after  a  little 
search  discovered  a  foot-ledge  of  earth  sufficiently 
broad  for  a  seat. 

"  That's  all  right,"  quoth  Jed  Parker.  "  Now,  for 
sleeping  places." 


THE     EMIGRANTS  23 

We  scattered.  Uncle  Jim  and  Charley  promptly 
annexed  the  slight  overhang  of  the  cliff  whence  the 
deer  had  jumped.  It  was  dry  at  the  moment,  but  we 
uttered  pessimistic  predictions  if  the  wind  should 
change.  Tom  Rich  and  Jim  Lester  had  a  little  tent, 
and  insisted  on  descending  to  the  canon-bed. 

"  Got  to  cook  there,  anyways,"  said  they,  and 
departed  with  the  two  pack  mules  and  their  bed 
horse. 

That  left  the  Cattleman,  Windy  Bill,  Jed  Parker, 
and  me.  In  a  moment  Windy  Bill  came  up  to  us 
whispering  and  mysterious. 

"  Get  your  cavallos  and  follow  me,"  said  he. 

We  did  so.  He  led  us  two  hundred  yards  to  an 
other  cave,  twenty  feet  high,  fifteen  feet  in  diameter, 
level  as  a  floor. 

"How's  that?  "  he  cried  in  triumph.  "  Found  her 
just  now  while  I  was  rustling  nigger-heads  for  a 
fire." 

We  unpacked  our  beds  with  chuckles  of  joy,  and 
spread  them  carefully  within  the  shelter  of  the  cave. 
Except  for  the  very  edges,  which  did  not  much  mat 
ter,  our  blankets  and  "  so-guns,"  protected  by  the 
canvas  "  tarp,"  were  reasonably  dry.  Every  once  in 


24.  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

a  while  a  spasm  of  conscience  would  seize  one  or  the 
o.ther  of  us. 

"  It  seems  sort  of  mean  on  the  other  fellows," 
ruminated  Jed  Parker. 

"They  had  their  first  choice,"  cried  we  all. 

"  Uncle  Jim's  an  old  man,"  the  Cattleman  pointed 
out. 

But  Windy  Bill  had  thought  of  that.  "  I  told  him 
ef  this  yere  cave  first.  But  he  allowed  he  was  plumb 
satisfied." 

We  finished  laying  out  our  blankets.  The  result 
looked  good  to  us.  We  all  burst  out  laughing. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  those  fellows,"  cried  the 
Cattleman. 

We  hobbled  our  horses  and  descended  to  the  gleam 
of  the  fire,  like  guilty  conspirators.  There  we  ate 
Hastily  of  meat,  bread  and  coffee,  merely  for  the  sake 
of  sustenance.  It  certainly  amounted  to  little  in  the 
way  of  pleasure.  The  water  from  the  direct  rain,  the 
shivering  trees,  and  our  hat  brims  accumulated  in 
our  plates  faster  than  we  could  bail  it  out.  The  dishes 
were  thrust  under  a  canvas.  Rich  and  Lester  decided 
to  remain  with  their  tent,  and  so  we  saw  them  no 
more  until  morning. 


THE     EMIGRANTS  25 

We  broke  off  back-loads  of  mesquite  and  toiled 
up  the  hill,  tasting  thickly  the  high  altitude  in  the 
severe  labour.  At  the  big  cave  we  dumped  down  our 
burdens,  transported  our  fuel  piecemeal  to  the  vicin 
ity  of  the  narrow  ledge,  built  a  good  fire,  sat  in  a 
row,  and  lit  our  pipes.  In  a  few  moments  the  blaze 
was  burning  high,  and  our  bodies  had  ceased  shiver 
ing.  Fantastically  the  firelight  revealed  the  knobs 
and  crevices,  the  ledges  and  the  arching  walls.  Their 
shadows  leaped,  following  the  flames,  receding  and 
advancing  like  playful  beasts.  Far  above  us  was  a 
single  tiny  opening  through  which  the  smoke  was 
sucked  as  through  a  chimney.  The  glow  ruddied  the 
men's  features.  Outside  was  thick  darkness,  and  the 
swish  and  rush  and  roar  of  rising  waters.  Listening, 
Windy  Bill  was  reminded  of  a  story.  We  leaned  back 
comfortably  against  the  sloping  walls  of  the  cave, 
thrust  our  feet  toward  the  blaze,  smoked,  and  heark 
ened  to  the  tale  of  Windy  Bill. 

There's  a  tur'ble  lot  of  water  running  loose  heres 
but  I've  seen  the  time  and  place  where  even  what  is 
in  that  drip  would  be  worth  a  gold  mine.  That  was 
in  the  emigrant  days.  They  used  to  come  over  south 


26  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

of  here,  through  what  they  called  Emigrant  Pass,  on 
their  way  to  Californy.  I  was  a  kid  then,  about 
eighteen  year  old,  and  what  I  didn't  know  about  In- 
jins  and  Agency  cattle  wasn't  a  patch  of  alkali.  I 
had  a  kid  outfit  of  h'ar  bridle,  lots  of  silver  and  such, 
and  I  used  to  ride  over  and  be  the  handsome  boy  be 
fore  such  outfits  as  happened  along. 

They  were  queer  people,  most  of  'em  from  Mis- 
soury  and  such-like  southern  seaports,  and  they  were 
tur'ble  sick  of  travel  by  the  time  they  come  in  sight 
of  Emigrant  Pass.  Up  to  Santa  Fe  they  mostly 
hiked  along  any  old  way,  but  once  there  they  herded 
up  together  in  bunches  of  twenty  wagons  or  so, 
'count  of  our  old  friends  Geronimo  and  Loco.  A 
good  many  of  'em  had  horned  cattle  to  their  wag 
ons,  and  they  crawled  along  about  two  miles  an 
hour,  hotter'n  hell  with  the  blower  on,  nothin'  to  look 
at  but  a  mountain  a  week  away,  chuck  full  of  alkali, 
plenty  of  sage-brush  and  rattlesnakes — but  mighty 
little  water. 

Why,  you  boys  know  that  country  down  there. 
Between  the  Chiricahua  Mountains  and  Emigrant 
Pass  it's  maybe  a  three  or  four  days'  journey  for 
these  yere  bull-skinner* 


THE     EMIGRANTS  27 

Mostly  they  filled  up  their  bellies  and  their  kegs, 
hopin'  to  last  through,  but  they  sure  found  it  drier 
than  cork  legs,  and  generally  long  before  they  hit 
the  Springs  their  tongues  was  hangin'  out  a  foot. 
You  see,  for  all  their  plumb  nerve  in  comin'  so  far, 
the  most  of  them  didn't  know  sic  'em.  They  were 
plumb  innocent  in  regard  to  savin'  their  water,  and 
Injins,  and  such;  and  the  long-haired  buckskin  fakes 
they  picked  up  at  Santa  Fe  for  guides  wasn't  much 
better. 

That  was  where  Texas  Pete  made  his  killin'. 

Texas  Pete  was  a  tough  citizen  from  the  Lone 
Star.  He  was  about  as  broad  as  he  was  long,  and 
wore  all  sorts  of  big  whiskers  and  black  eyebrows. 
His  heart  was  very  bad.  You  never  could  tell  where 
Texas  Pete  was  go  in'  to  jump  next.  He  was  a  side 
winder  and  a  diamond-back  and  a  little  black  rattle 
snake  all  rolled  into  one.  I  believe  that  Texas  Pete 
person  cared  about  as  little  for  killin'  a  man  as  for 
takin'  a  drink — and  he  shorely  drank  without  an 
effort.  Peaceable  citizens  just  spoke  soft  and  minded 
their  own  business ;  onpeaceable  citizens  Texas  Pete 
used  to  plant  out  in  the  sage-brush. 

Now  this  Texas  Pete  happened  to  discover  a  water 


28  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

hole  right  out  in  the  plumb  middle  of  the  desert.  He 
promptly  annexed  said  water  hole,  digs  her  out, 
timbers  her  up,  and  lays  for  emigrants.  He 
charged  two  bits  a  head — man  or  beast — and  no 
body  got  a  mouthful  till  he  paid  up  in  hard 
coin. 

Think  of  the  wads  he  raked  in !  I  used  to  figure  it 
up,  just  for  the  joy  of  envyin'  him,  I  reckon.  An 
average  twenty-wagon  outfit,  first  and  last,  would 
bring  him  in  somewheres  about  fifty  dollars — and 
besides  he  had  forty-rod  at  four  bits  a  glass.  And 
outfits  at  that  time  were  thicker'n  spatter. 

We  used  all  to  go  down  sometimes  to  watch  them 

come  in.  When  they  see  that  little  canvas  shack  and 

that  well,  they  begun  to  cheer  up  and  move  fast.  And 

,.  when  they  see  that  sign,  "  Water,  two  bits  a  head," 

their  eyes  stuck  out  like  two  raw  oysters. 

Then  come  the  kicks.  What  a  howl  they  did  raise, 
shorely.  But  it  didn't  do  no  manner  of  good.  Texas 
Pete  didn't  do  nothin'  but  sit  there  and  smoke,  with 
a  kind  of  sulky  gleam  in  one  corner  of  his  eye.  He 
didn't  even  take  the  trouble  to  answer,  but  his  Win 
chester  lay  across  his  lap.  There  wasn't  no  humour 
in  the  situation  for  him. 


THE     EMIGRANTS  29 

"  How  much  is  your  water  for  humans  ?  "  asks  one 
emigrant. 

"Can't  you  read  that  sign?"  Texas  Pete  asks 
him. 

"But  you  don't  mean  two  bits  a  head  for  'hu 
mans!"  yells  the  man.  "Why,  you  can  get  whisky 
for  that!" 

"  You  can  read  the  sign,  can't  you  ?  "  insists  Texas 
Pete. 

"  I  can  read  it  all  right?  "  says  the  man,  tryin* 
a  new  deal,  "  but  they  tell  me  not  to  believe  more'n 
half  I  read." 

But  that  don't  go;  and  Mr.  Emigrant  shells  out 
with  the  rest. 

I  didn't  blame  them  for  raisin'  their  howl.  Why, 
at  that  time  the  regular  water  holes  was  chargin' 
five  cents  a  head  from  the  government  freighters, 
and  the  motto  was  always  "  Hold  up  Uncle  Sam," 
at  that.  Once  in  a  while  some  outfit  would  get  mad 
and  go  chargin'  off  dry ;  but  it  was  a  long,  long  way 
to  the  Springs,  and  mighty  hot  and  dusty.  Texas 
Pete  and  his  one  lonesome  water  hole  shorely  did  a 
big  business. 

Late  one  afternoon  me  and  Gentleman  Tim  was 


60  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

joggin'  along  above  Texas  Pete's  place.  It  was  a 
tur'ble  hot  day — you  had  to  prime  yourself  to  spit — 
and  we  was  just  gettin'  back  from  drivin'  some  beef 
up  to  the  troops  at  Fort  Huachuca.  We  was  due  to 
cross  the  Emigrant  Trail — she's  wore  in  tur'ble  deep 
— you  can  see  the  ruts  to-day.  When  we  topped  the 
rise  we  see  a  little  old  outfit  just  makin'  out  to  drag 
along. 

It  was  one  little  schooner  all  by  herself,  drug 
along  by  two  poor  old  cavallos  that  couldn't  have 
pulled  my  hat  off.  Their  tongues  was  out,  and  every 
once  in  a  while  they'd  stick  in  a  chuck-hole.  Then  a 
man  would  get  down  and  put  his  shoulder  to  the 
wheel,  and  everybody'd  take  a  heave,  and  up  they'd 
come,  all  a-trembling  and  weak. 

Tim  and  I  rode  down  just  to  take  a  look  at  the 
curiosity. 

A  thin-lookin'  man  was  drivin',  all  humped  up. 

"  Hullo,  stranger,"  says  I,  "  ain't  you  'f raid  of 
In  j  ins?" 

"Yes,"  says  he. 

"  Then  why  are  you  travellin'  through  an  In j  in 
country  all  alone  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  keep  up,"  says  he.  "  Can  I  get  water 
here?" 


THE     EMIGRANTS  31 

"  I  reckon,"  I  answers. 

He  drove  up  to  the  water  trough  there  at  Texas 
Pete's,  me  and  Gentleman  Tim  folio  win'  along 
because  our  trail  led  that  way.  But  he  hadn't  more'n 
stopped  before  Texas  Pete  was  out. 

"  Cost  you  four  bits  to  water  them  hosses," 
says  he. 

The  man  looked  up  kind  of  bewildered. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  says  he,  "  I  ain't  got  no  four  bits. 
I  got  my  roll  lifted  off'n  me." 

"No  water,  then,"  growls  Texas  Pete  back  at 
him. 

The  man  looked  about  him  helpless. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  next  water?"  he  asks  me. 

"  Twenty  mile,"  I  tells  him. 

"  My  God !  "  he  says,  to  himself-like. 

Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  very  tired. 

"  All  right.  It's  gerttin'  the  cool  of  the  evenin' ; 
we'll  make  it."  He  turns  into  the  inside  of  that  old 
schooner.  "  Gi'  me  the  cup,  Sue." 

A  white-faced  woman  who  looked  mighty  good  to 
us  alkalis  opened  the  flaps  and  gave  out  a  tin  cup, 
which  the  man  pointed  out  to  fill. 

"  How  many  of  you  is  they  ?  "  asks  Texas  Pete. 

"  Three,"  replies  the  man,  wondering. 


32  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"Well,  six  bits,  then,"  says  Texas  Pete,  "cash 
down." 

At  that  the  man  straightens  up  a  little. 

"  I  ain't  askin'  for  no  water  for  my  stock,"  says 
he,  "  but  my  wife  and  baby  has  been  out  in  this  sun 
all  day  without  a  drop  of  water.  Our  cask  slipped  a 
hoop  and  bust  just  this  side  of  Dos  Cabesas.  The 
poor  kid  is  plumb  dry." 

"  Two  bits  a  head,"  says  Texas  Pete. 

At  that  the  woman  comes  out,  a  little  bit  of  a  baby 
in  her  arms.  The  kid  had  fuzzy  yellow  hair,  and  its 
face  was  flushed  red  and  shiny. 

"  Shorely  you  won't  refuse  a  sick  child  a  drink  of 
water,  sir,"  says  she. 

But  Texas  Pete  had  some  sort  of  a  special  grouch ; 
I  guess  he  was  just  beginning  to  get  his  snowshoes 
off  after  a  fight  with  his  own  forty-rod. 

"What  the  hell  are  you-all  doin'  on  the  trail 
without  no  money  at  all?  "  he  growls,  "  and  how 
do  you  expect  to  get  along?  Such  plumb  tenderfeet 
drive  me  weary." 

"Well,"  says  the  man,  still  reasonable,  "I  ain't 
got  no  money,  but  I'll  give  you  six  bits'  worth  of 
flour  or  trade  or  an'thin'  I  got." 


THE     EMIGRANTS  33 

"  I  don't  run  no  truck  store,"  snaps  Texas  Pete, 
and  turns  square  on  his  heel  and  goes  back  to  his 
chair. 

"Got  six  bits  about  you?"  whispers  Gentleman 
Tim  to  me. 

"  Not  a  red,"  I  answers. 

Gentleman  Tim  turns  to  Texas  Pete. 

"Let  'em  have  a  drink,  Pete.  I'll  pay  you  next 
time  I  come  down." 

"  Cash  down,"  growls  Pete. 

"You're  the  meanest  man  I  ever  see,"  observes 
Tim.  "  I  wouldn't  speak  to  you  if  I  met  you  in  hell 
carryin'  a  lump  of  ice  in  your  hand." 

"  You're  the  softest  I  ever  see,"  sneers  Pete. 
"  Don't  they  have  any  genooine  Texans  down  your 
way?" 

"  Not  enough  to  make  it  disagreeable,"  says  Tim. 

"  That  lets  you  out,"  growls  Pete,  gettin'  hostile 
and  handlin'  of  his  rifle. 

Which  the  man  had  been  standin'  there  bewildered, 
the  cup  hangin'  from  his  finger.  At  last,  lookin' 
pretty  desperate,  he  stooped  down  to  dig  up  a  little 
of  the  wet  from  an  overflow  puddle  lyin'  at  his  feet. 
At  the  same  time  the  hosse's,  left  sort  of  to  them- 


84  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

selves,  and  bein'  drier  than  a  covered  bridge,  drug 
forward  and  stuck  their  noses  in  the  trough. 

Gentleman  Tim  and  me  was  sittin'  there  on  our 
hosses,  a  little  to  one  side.  We  saw  Texas  Pete  jump 
up  from  his  chair,  take  a  quick  aim,  and  cut  loose  with 
his  rifle.  It  was  plumb  unexpected  to  us.  We  hadn't 
thought  of  any  shootin',  and  our  six-shooters  was 
tied  in,  'count  of  the  jumpy  country  we'd  been  drivin' 
the  steers  over.  But  Gentleman  Tim,  who  had  un- 
slung  his  rope,  aimin'  to  help  the  hosses  out  of  the 
chuck-hole,  snatched  her  off  the  horn,  and  with  one 
of  the  prettiest  twenty-foot  flip  throws  I  ever  see 
done  he  snaked  old  Texas  Pete  right  out  of  his 
wicky-up,  gun  and  all.  The  old  renegade  did  his  best 
to  twist  around  for  a  shot  at  us ;  but  it  was  no  go ; 
and  I  never  enjoyed  hog-tying  a  critter  more  in  my 
life  than  I  enjoyed  hog-tying  Texas  Pete.  Then  we 
turned  to  see  what  damage  had  been  done. 

We  were  some  relieved  to  find  the  family  all  right, 
but  Texas  Pete  had  bored  one  of  them  poor  old  crow- 
bait  hosses  plumb  through  the  head. 

"  It's  lucky  for  you  you  don't  get  the  old  man," 
says  Gentleman  Tim  very  quiet  and  polite. 

Which  Gentleman  Tim  was  an  Irishman,  and  I'd 


THE     EMIGRANTS  35 

been  on  the  range  long  enough  with  him  to  know 
that  when  he  got  quiet  and  polite  it  was  time  to 
dodge  behind  something. 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  says  he  to  the  stranger,  "  that 
you  will  give  your  wife  and  baby  a  satisfying  drink. 
As  for  your  hoss,  pray  do  not  be  under  any  appre 
hension.  Our  friend,  Mr.  Texas  Pete,  here,  has  kindly 
consented  to  make  good  any  deficiencies  from  his  own 
corral." 

Tim  could  talk  high,  wide,  and  handsome  when  he 
set  out  to. 

The  man  started  to  say  something ;  but  I  managed 
to  herd  him  to  one  side. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  I  whispers.  "  When  he  talks  that 
way,  he's  mad ;  and  when  he's  mad,  it's  better  to  leave 
nature  to  supply  the  lightnin'  rods." 

He  seemed  to  sabe  all  right,  so  we  built  us  a  little 
fire  and  started  some  grub,  while  Gentleman  Tim 
walked  up  and  down  very  grand  and  fierce. 

By  and  by  he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind.  He 
went  over  and  untied  Texas  Pete. 

"  Stand  up,  you  hound,"  says  he.  "  Now  listen  to 
me.  If  you  make  a  break  to  get  away,  or  if  you  refuse 
to  do  just  as  I  tell  you,  I  won't  shoot  you,  but  I'll 


36  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

march  you  up  country  and  see  that  Geronimo  gets 
you." 

He  sorted  out  a  shovel  and  pick,  made  Texas  Pete 
carry  them  right  along  the  trail  a  quarter,  and 
started  him  to  diggin'  a  hole. 

Texas  Pete  started  in  hard  enough,  Tim  sittin' 
over  him  on  his  hoss,  his  six-shooter  loose,  and  his 
rope  free.  The  man  and  I  stood  by,  not  darin'  to 
say  a  word.  After  a  minute  or  so  Texas  Pete  began 
to  work  slower  and  slower.  By  and  by  he  stopped. 

"Look  here,"  says  he,  "is  this  here  thing  my 
grave?  " 

"  I  am  goin'  to  see  that  you  give  the  gentleman's 
hoss  decent  interment,"  says  Gentleman  Tim  very 
polite. 

"  Bury  a  hoss !  "  growls  Texas  Pete. 

But  he  didn't  say  any  more.  Tim  cocked  his  six- 
shooter. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  quit  panting  and  sweat  a 
little,"  says  he. 

Texas  Pete  worked  hard  for  a  while,  for  Tim's 
quietness  was  beginning  to  scare  him  up  the  worst 
way.  By  and  by  he  had  got  down  maybe  four  or  five 
feet,  and  Tim  got  off  his  hoss. 

"  I  think  that  will  do,"  says  he.  "  You  may  come 


THE    EMIGRANTS  37 

out.  Billy,  my  son,  cover  him.  Now,  Mr.  Texas 
Pete,"  he  says,  cold  as  steel,  "there  is  the  grave. 
We  will  place  the  hoss  in  it.  Then  I  intend  to  shoot 
you  and  put  you  in  with  the  hoss,  and  write  you  an 
epitaph  that  will  be  a  comfort  to  such  travellers  of 
the  Trail  as  are  honest,  and  a  warnin'  to  such  as  are 
not.  I'd  as  soon  kill  you  now  as  an  hour  from  now, 
so  you  may  make  a  break  for  it  if  you  feel  like  it." 

He  stooped  over  to  look  in  the  hole.  I  thought  he 
looked  an  extra  long  time,  but  when  he  raised  his 
head  his  face  had  changed  complete. 

"  March !  "  says  he  very  brisk. 

We  all  went  back  to  the  shack.  From  the  corral 
Tim  took  Texas  Pete's  best  team  and  hitched  her  to 
the  old  schooner. 

"  There,"  says  he  to  the  man.  "  Now  you'd  better 
hit  the  trail.  Take  that  whisky  keg  there  for  water. 
Good-bye." 

We  sat  there  without  sayin'  a  word  for  some  time 
after  the  schooner  had  pulled  out.  Then  Tim  says 
very  abrupt: 

"I've  changed  my  mind." 

He  got  up. 

"Come  on,  Billy,"  says  he  to  me.  "We'll  just 
leave  our  friend  tied  up.  I'll  be  back  to-morrow  to 


88  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

turn  you  loose.  In  the  meantime  it  won't  hurt  you  a 

bit  to  be  a  little  uncomfortable,  and  hungry — and 

thirsty." 

We  rode  off  just  about  sundown,  leavin'  Texas 
Pete  lashed  tight. 

Now  all  this  knocked  me  hell-west  and  crooked, 
and  I  said  so,  but  I  couldn't  get  a  word  out  of  Gen 
tleman  Tim.  All  the  answer  I  could  get  was  just 
little  laughs. 

We  drawed  into  the  ranch  near  midnight,  but 
next  mornin'  Tim  had  a  long  talk  with  the  boss,  and 
the  result  was  that  the  whole  outfit  was  instructed  to 
arm  up  with  a  pick  or  a  shovel  apiece,  and  to  get  set 
for  Texas  Pete's.  We  got  there  a  little  after  noon, 
turned  the  old  boy  out — without  firearms — and  then 
began  to  dig  at  a  place  Tim  told  us  to,  near  that 
grave  of  Texas  Pete's.  In  three  hours  we  had  the 
finest  water-hole  developed  you  ever  want  to  see. 
Then  the  boss  stuck  up  a  sign  that  said: 

PUBLIC  WATER-HOLE.     WATER  FREE. 

"  Now  you  old  skin,"  says  he  to  Texas  Pete, 
"  charge  all  you  want  to  on  your  own  property.  But 


THE     EMIGRANTS  69 

if  I  ever  hear  of  your  layin'  claim  to  this  other  hole, 
I'll  shore  make  you  hard  to  catch." 

Then  we  rode  off  home. 

You  see,  when  Gentleman  Tim  inspected  that 
grave,  he  noted  indications  of  water;  and  it  struck 
him  that  runnin'  the  old  renegade  out  of  business 
was  a  neater  way  of  gettin'  even  than  merely  killin' 
him. 

Somebody  threw  a  fresh  mesquite  on  the  fire.  The 
flames  leaped  up  again,  showing  a  thin  trickle  of 
water  running  down  the  other  side  of  the  cave.  The 
steady  downpour  again  made  itself  prominent 
through  the  re-established  silence. 

"What  did  Texas  Pete  do  after  that?"  asked  the 
Cattleman. 

"Texas  Pete?"  chuckled  Windy  Bill.  "Well,  he 
put  in  a  heap  of  his  spare  time  lettin'  Tim  alone." 


CHAPTER     THREE 

THE    REMITTANCE    MAN 

AFTEE  Windy  Bill  had  finished  his  story  we  began 
to  think  it  time  to  turn  in.  Uncle  Jim  and  Charley 
slid  and  slipped  down  the  chute-like  passage  leading 
from  the  cave  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
overhang  beneath  which  they  had  spread  their  bed. 
After  a  moment  we  tore  off  long  bundles  of  the 
nigger-head  blades,  lit  the  resinous  ends  at  our  fire, 
and  with  these  torches  started  to  make  our  way  along 
the  base  of  the  cliff  to  the  other  cave. 

Once  without  the  influence  of  the  fire  our  im 
promptu  links  cast  an  adequate  light.  The  sheets  of 
rain  became  suddenly  visible  as  they  entered  the  circle 
of  illumination.  By  careful  scrutiny  of  the  footing 
I  gained  the  entrance  to  our  cave  without  mishap.  I 
looked  back.  Here  and  there  irregularly  gleamed  and 
spluttered  my  companions'  torches.  Across  each 
slanted  the  rain.  All  else  was  of  inky  blackness  ex 
cept  where,  between  them  and  me,  a  faint  red  reflec 
tion  shone  on  the  wet  rocks.  Then  I  turned  inside. 

40 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       41 

Now,  to  judge  from  the  crumbling  powder  of  the 
footing,  that  cave  had  been  dry  since  Noah.  In  fact, 
its  roof  was  nearly  a  thousand  feet  thick.  But  since 
we  had  spread  our  blankets,  the  persistent  waters  had 
soaked  down  and  through.  The  thousand-foot  roof 
had  a  sprung  a  leak.  Three  separate  and  distinct 
streams  of  water  ran  as  from  spigots.  I  lowered 
my  torch.  The  canvas  tarpaulin  shone  with  wet, 
and  in  its  exact  centre  glimmered  a  pool  of  water 
three  inches  deep  and  at  least  two  feet  in  diam 
eter. 

"  Well,  I'll  be "  I  began.  Then  I  remembered 

those  three  wending  their  way  along  a  wet  and  dis 
agreeable  trail,  happy  and  peaceful  in  anticipation 
of  warm  blankets  and  a  level  floor.  I  chuckled  and 
sat  on  my  heels  out  of  the  drip. 

First  came  Jed  Parker,  his  head  bent  to  protect 
the  fire  in  his  pipe.  He  gained  the  very  centre  of 
the  cave  before  he  looked  up.  Then  he  cast  one 
glance  at  each  bed,  and  one  at  me.  His  grave,  hawk 
like  features  relaxed.  A  faint  grin  appeared  under 
his  long  moustache.  Without  a  word  he  squatted 
down  beside  me. 

Next  the  Cattleman.  He  looked  about  him  with 


42  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

a  comical  expression  of  dismay,  and  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh. 

"  I  believe  I  said  I  was  sorry  for  those  other  fel 
lows,"  he  remarked. 

Windy  Bill  was  the  last.  He  stooped  his  head  to 
enter,  straightened  his  lank  figure,  and  took  in  the 
situation  without  expression. 

"Well,  this  is  handy,"  said  he;  "I  was  gettin* 
tur'ble  dry,  and  was  thinkin'  I  would  have  to  climb 
'way  down  to  the  creek  in  all  this  rain." 

He  stooped  to  the  pool  in  the  centre  of  the  tar 
paulin  and  drank. 

But  now  our  torches  began  to  run  low.  A  small 
dry  bush  grew  near  the  entrance.  We  ignited  it,  and 
while  it  blazed  we  hastily  sorted  a  blanket  apiece  and 
tumbled  the  rest  out  of  the  drip. 

Our  return  without  torches  along  the  base  of  that 
butte  was  something  to  remember.  The  night  was  so 
thick  you  could  feel  the  darkness  pressing  on  you; 
the  mountain  dropped  abruptly  to  the  left,  and  was 
strewn  with  boulders  and  blocks  of  stone.  Collisions 
and  stumbles  were  frequent.  Once  I  stepped  off  a 
little  ledge  five  or  six  feet  high — nothing  worse  than 
a  barked  shin.  And  all  the  while  the  rain,  pelting  us 


THE  REMITTANCE  MAN  43 
unmercifully,  searched  out  what  poor  little  remnants 
of  dryness  we  had  been  able  to  retain. 

At  last  we  opened  out  the  gleam  of  fire  in  our 
cave,  and  a  minute  later  were  engaged  in  struggling 
desperately  up  the  slant  that  brought  us  to  our 
ledge  and  the  slope  on  which  our  fire  burned. 

"My  Lord!"  panted  Windy  Bill,  "a  man  had 
ought  to  have  hooks  on  his  eyebrows  to  climb  up 
here!" 

We  renewed  the  fire — and  blessed  the  back-loads 
of  mesquite  we  had  packed  up  earlier  in  the  evening. 
Our  blankets  we  wrapped  around  our  shoulders,  our 
feet  we  hung  over  the  ledge  toward  the  blaze,  our 
backs  we  leaned  against  the  hollow  slant  of  the  cave's 
wall.  We  were  not  uncomfortable.  The  beat  of  the 
rain  sprang  up  in  the  stillness,  growing  louder  and 
louder,  like  horsemen  passing  on  a  hard  road.  Gradu 
ally  we  dozed  off. 

For  a  time  everything  was  pleasant.  Dreams  came, 
fused  with  realities;  the  firelight  faded  from  con 
sciousness  or  returned  fantastic  to  our  half -awaken 
ing  ;  a  delicious  numbness  overspread  our  tired  bodies. 
The  shadows  leaped,  became  solid,  monstrous.  We 
fell  asleep. 


44  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

After  a  time  the  fact  obtruded  itself  dimly  through 
our  stupor  that  the  constant  pressure  of  the  hard 
rock  had  impeded  our  circulation.  We  stirred  un 
easily,  shifting  to  a  better  position.  That  was  the  be 
ginning  of  awakening.  The  new  position  did  not  suit. 
A  slight  shivering  seized  us,  which  the  drawing  closer 
of  the  blanket  failed  to  end.  Finally  I  threw  aside 
my  hat  and  looked  out.  Jed  Parker,  a  vivid  patch 
work  comforter  wrapped  about  his  shoulders,  stood 
upright  and  silent  by  the  fire.  I  kept  still,  fearing 
to  awaken  the  others.  In  a  short  time  I  became  aware 
that  the  others  were  doing  identically  the  same  thing. 
We  laughed,  threw  off  our  blankets,  stretched,  and 
fed  the  fire. 

A  thick  acrid  smoke  filled  the  air.  The  Cattleman, 
rising,  left  a  trail  of  incandescent  footprints.  We 
investigated  hastily,  and  discovered  that  the  supposed 
earth  on  the  slant  of  the  cave  was  nothing  more  than 
bat  guano,  tons  of  it.  The  fire,  eating  its  way  be 
neath,  had  rendered  untenable  its  immediate  vicinity. 
We  felt  as  though  we  were  living  over  a  volcano. 
How  soon  our  ledge,  of  the  same  material,  might  be 
attacked,  we  had  no  means  of  knowing.  Overcome 
with  drowsiness,  we  again  disposed  our  blankets,  re- 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       45 

solved  to  get  as  many  naps  as  possible  before  even 
these  constrained  quarters  were  taken  from  us. 

This  happened  sooner  and  in  a  manner  otherwise 
than  we  had  expected.  Windy  Bill  brought  us  to  con 
sciousness  by  a  wild  yell.  Consciousness  reported  to 
us  a  strange,  hurried  sound  like  the  long  roll  on  a 
drum.  Investigation  showed  us  that  this  cave,  too, 
had  sprung  a  leak;  not  with  any  premonitory  drip, 
but  all  at  once,  as  though  someone  had  turned  on  a 
faucet.  In  ten  seconds  a  very  competent  streamlet 
six  inches  wide  had  eroded  a  course  down  through 
the  guano,  past  the  fire  and  to  the  outer  slope.  And 
by  the  irony  of  fate  that  one — and  only  one — leak 
in  all  the  roof  expanse  of  a  big  cave  was  directly 
over  one  end  of  our  tiny  ledge.  The  Cattleman 
laughed. 

"  Reminds  me  of  the  old  farmer  and  his  kind 
friend,"  said  he.  "  Kind  friend  hunts  up  the  old 
farmer  in  the  village. 

" '  John,'  says  he,  c  I've  sad  news  for  you.  Your 
barn  has  burned  up.' 

"  c  My  Lord ! '  says  the  farmer. 

"  '  But  that  ain't  the  worst.  Your  cow  was  burned, 
too.' 


46  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  '  My  Lord ! '  says  the  farmer. 

" '  But  that  ain't  the  worst.  Your  horses  were 
burned.' 

"  '  My  Lord ! '  says  the  farmer. 

"  <  But  that  ain't  the  worst.  The  barn  set  fire  to 
the  house,  and  it  was  burned — total  loss.' 

"  '  My  Lord ! '  groans  the  farmer. 

" c  But  that  ain't  the  worst.  Your  wife  and  child 
were  killed,  too.' 

"  At  that  the  farmer  began  to  roar  with  laughter. 

" '  Good  heavens,  man ! '  cries  his  friend,  aston 
ished,  *  what  in  the  world  do  you  find  to  laugh  at  in 
that?' 

"  6  Don't  you  see?  '  answers  the  farmer.  *  Why, 
it's  so  darn  complete! ' 

"Well,"  finished  the  Cattleman,  "that's  what 
strikes  me  about  our  case;  it's  so  darn  complete!" 

"What  time  is  it?"  asked  Windy  Bill. 

"  Midnight,"  I  announced. 

"  Lord !  Six  hours  to  day !  "  groaned  Windy  Bill. 
"  How'd  you  like  to  be  doin'  a  nice  quiet  job  at  gar- 
denin'  in  the  East  where  you  could  belly  up  to  the 
bar  reg'lar  every  eveniri',  and  drink  a  pussy  cafe 
and  smoke  tailor-made  cigareets  ?  " 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       47 
"  You  wouldn't  like  it  a  bit,"  put  in  the  Cattleman 
with  decision;  whereupon  in  proof  he  told  us  the 
following  story: 

Windy  has  mentioned  Gentleman  Tim,  and  that 
reminded  me  of  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  He  was 
an  Irishman  all  right,  but  he  had  been  educated  in 
England,  and  except  for  his  accent  he  was  more  an 
Englishman  than  anything  else.  A  freight  outfit 
brought  him  into  Tucson  from  Santa  Fe  and  dumped 
him  down  on  the  plaza,  where  at  once  every  idler  in 
town  gathered  to  quiz  him. 

Certainly  he  was  one  of  the  greenest  specimens  I 
ever  saw  in  this  country.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  balloon 
pants  and  a  Norfolk  jacket,  and  was  surrounded  by 
a  half-dozen  baby  trunks.  His  face  was  red-cheeked 
and  aggressively  clean,  and  his  eye  limpid  as  a  child's. 
Most  of  those  present  thought  that  indicated  child 
ishness;  but  I  could  see  that  it  was  only  utter  self- 
unconsciousness. 

It  seemed  that  he  was  out  for  big  game,  and  in 
tended  to  go  after  silver-tips  somewhere  in  these  very 
mountains.  Of  course  he  was  offered  plenty  of  ad 
vice,  and  would  probably  have  made  engagements 


48  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

much  to  be  regretted  had  I  not  taken  a  strong  fancy 
to  him. 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  drawing  him  aside,  "  I  don't 
want  to  be  inquisitive,  but  what  might  you  do  when 
you're  home?  " 

"  I'm  a  younger  son,"  said  he. 

I  was  green  myself  in  those  days,  and  knew  noth 
ing  of  primogeniture. 

"  That  is  a  very  interesting  piece  of  family  his 
tory,"  said  I,  "  but  it  does  not  answer  my  question." 

He  smiled. 

"Well  now,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  he, 
"  but  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  it  does.  I  do  nothing." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  unabashed,  "  if  you  saw  me  trying 
to  be  a  younger  son  and  likely  to  forget  myself  and 
do  something  without  meaning  to,  wouldn't  you  be 
apt  to  warn  me?  " 

"  Well,  'pon  honour,  you're  a  queer  chap.  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  you  hire  any  of  those  men  to 
guide  you  in  the  mountains,  you'll  be  outrageously 
cheated,  and  will  be  lucky  if  you're  not  gobbled  by 
Apaches." 

"  Do  you  do  any  guiding  yourself,  now  ?  "  he  asked, 
most  innocent  of  manner. 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       49 

But  I  fired  up. 

"  You  damn  ungrateful  pup,"  I  said,  "  go  to  the 
devil  in  your  own  way,"  and  turned  square  on  my 
heel. 

But  the  young  man  was  at  my  elbow,  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  I  say  now,  I'm  sorry.  I  didn't  rightly  un 
derstand.  Do  wait  one  moment  until  I  dispose  of 
these  boxes  of  mine,  and  then  I  want  the  honour  of 
your  further  acquaintance." 

He  got  some  Greasers  to  take  his  trunks  over  to 
the  hotel,  then  linked  his  arm  in  mine  most  engag 
ingly. 

"  Now,  my  dear  chap,"  said  he,  "  let's  go  some 
where  for  a  B  &  S,  and  find  out  about  each  other." 

We  were  both  young  and  expansive.  We  ex 
changed  views,  names,  and  confidences,  and  before 
noon  we  had  arranged  to  hunt  together,  I  to  collect 
the  outfit. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  the  Honourable 
Timothy  Clare  and  I  had  a  most  excellent  month's 
excursion,  shot  several  good  bear,  and  returned  to 
Tucson  the  best  of  friends. 

At  Tucson  was  Schiefflein  and  his  stories  of  a  big 
strike  down  in  the  Apache  country.  Nothing  would 


50  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

do  but  that  we  should  both  go  to  see  for  ourselves. 
We  joined  the  second  expedition ;  crept  in  the  gullies, 
tied  bushes  about  ourselves  when  monumenting 
corners,  and  so  helped  establish  the  town  of  Tomb 
stone.  We  made  nothing,  nor  attempted  to.  Neither 
of  us  knew  anything  of  mining,  but  we  were  both 
thirsty  for  adventure,  and  took  a  schoolboy  delight 
in  playing  the  game  of  life  or  death  with  the  Chiri- 
cahuas. 

In  fact,  I  never  saw  anybody  take  to  the  wild  life 
as  eagerly  as  the  Honourable  Timothy  Clare.  He 
wanted  to  attempt  everything.  With  him  it  was  no 
sooner  see  than  try,  and  he  had  such  an  abundance  of 
enthusiasm  that  he  generally  succeeded.  The  balloon 
pants  soon  went.  In  a  month  his  outfit  was  irre 
proachable.  He  used  to  study  us  by  the  hour, 
taking  in  every  detail  of  our  equipment,  from  the 
smallest  to  the  most  important.  Then  he  asked  ques 
tions.  For  all  his  desire  to  be  one  of  the  country,  he 
was  never  ashamed  to  acknowledge  his  ignorance. 

"  Now,  don't  you  chaps  think  it  silly  to  wear  such 
high  heels  to  your  boots?  "  he  would  ask.  "  It  seems 
to  me  a  very  useless  sort  of  vanity." 

"  No  vanity  about  it,  Tim,"  I  explained.  "  In  the 


We  joined  the  second  expedition 


THE  REMITTANCE  MAN  51 
first  place,  it  keeps  your  foot  from  slipping  through 
the  stirrup.  In  the  second  place,  it  is  good  to  grip  on 
the  ground  when  you  are  roping  afoot." 

"  By  Jove,  that's  true !  "  he  cried. 

So  he'd  get  him  a  pair  of  boots.  For  a  while  it 
was  enough  to  wear  and  own  all  these  things.  He 
seemed  to  delight  in  his  six-shooter  and  his  rope  just 
as  ornaments  to  himself  and  horse.  But  he  soon  got 
over  that.  Then  he  had  to  learn  to  use  them. 

For  the  time  being,  pistol  practice,  for  instance, 
would  absorb  all  his  thoughts.  He'd  bang  away  at 
intervals  all  day,  and  figure  out  new  theories  all 
night. 

"  That  bally  scheme  won't  work,"  he  would  com 
plain.  "  I  believe  if  I  extended  my  thumb  along  the 
cylinder,  it  would  help  that  side  jump." 

He  was  always  easing  the  trigger-pull,  or  filing 
the  sights.  In  time  he  got  to  be  a  fairly  accurate 
and  very  quick  shot. 

The  same  way  with  roping  and  hog-tying  and  all 
the  rest. 

"What's  the  use?"  I  used  to  ask  him.  "If  you 
were  going  to  be  a  buckeroo,  you  couldn't  go  into 
harder  training." 


52  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  I  like  it,"  was  always  his  answer. 

He  had  only  one  real  vice,  that  I  could  see.  He 
would  gamble.  Stud  poker  was  his  favourite;  and  I 
never  saw  a  Britisher  yet  who  could  play  poker.  I 
used  to  head  him  off  when  I  could,  and  he  was  always 
grateful,  but  the  passion  was  strong. 

After  we  got  back  from  founding  Tombstone  I 
was  busted  and  had  to  go  to  work. 

"  I've  got  plenty,"  said  Tim,  "  and  it's  all  yours." 

"  I  know,  old  fellow,"  I  told  him,  "  but  your  money 
wouldn't  do  for  me." 

Buck  Johnson  was  just  seeing  his  chance  then,  and 
was  preparing  to  take  some  breeding  cattle  over  into 
the  Soda  Springs  Valley.  Everybody  laughed  at  him 
— said  it  was  right  in  the  line  of  the  Chiricahua  raids, 
which  was  true.  But  Buck  had  been  in  there  with 
Agency  steers,  and  thought  he  knew.  So  he  collected 
a  trail  crew,  brought  some  Oregon  cattle  across,  and 
built  his  home  ranch  of  three-foot  adobe  walls  with 
portholes.  I  joined  the  trail  crew;  and  somehow  or 
another  the  Honourable  Timothy  got  permission  to 
go  along  on  his  own  hook. 

The  trail  was  a  long  one.  We  had  thirst  and  heat 
and  stampedes  and  some  Indian  scares.  But  in  the 


THE  REMITTANCE  MAN  53 
queer  atmospheric  conditions  that  prevailed  that 
summer,  I  never  saw  the  desert  more  wonderful.  It 
was  like  waking  to  the  glory  of  God  to  sit  up  at  dawn 
and  see  the  colours  change  on  the  dry  ranges 

At  the  home  ranch,  again,  Tim  managed  to  get 
permission  to  stay  on.  He  kept  his  own  mount  of 
horses,  took  care  of  them,  hunted,  and  took  part  in 
all  the  cow  work.  We  lost  some  cattle  from  Indians, 
of  course,  but  it  was  too  near  the  Reservation  for 
them  to  do  more  than  pick  up  a  few  stray  head  on 
their  way  through.  The  troops  were  always  after 
them  full  jump,  and  so  they  never  had  time  to  round 
up  the  beef.  But  of  course  we  had  to  look  out  or 
we'd  lose  our  hair,  and  many  a  cowboy  has  won  out 
to  the  home  ranch  in  an  almighty  exciting  race.  This 
was  nuts  for  the  Honourable  Timothy  Clare,  much 
better  than  hunting  silver- tips,  and  he  enjoyed  it  no 
limit. 

Things  went  along  that  way  for  some  time,  until 
one  evening  as  I  was  turning  out  the  horses  a  buck- 
board  drew  in,  and  from  it  descended  Tony  Briggs 
and  a  dapper  little  fellow  dressed  all  in  black  and 
with  a  plug  hat. 

4$  Which  I   accounts   for   said    hat    reachin'   the 


54  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

ranch,  because  it's  Friday  and  the  boys  not  in  town," 
Tony  whispered  to  me. 

As  I  happened  to  be  the  only  man  in  sight,  the 
stranger  addressed  me. 

"  I  am  looking,"  said  he  in  a  peculiar,  sing-song 
manner  I  have  since  learned  to  be  English,  "  for  the 
Honourable  Timothy  Clare.  Is  he  here?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  looking  for  him,  are  you?  "  said  I. 
"  And  who  might  you  be  ?  " 

You  see,  I  liked  Tim,  and  I  didn't  intend  to  de 
liver  him  over  into  trouble. 

The  man  picked  a  pair  of  eye-glasses  off  his 
stomach  where  they  dangled  at  the  end  of  a  chain, 
perched  them  on  his  nose,  and  stared  me  over.  I 
must  have  looked  uncompromising,  for  after  a  few 
seconds  he  abruptly  wrinkled  his  nose  so  that  the 
glasses  fell  promptly  to  his  stomach  again,  felt  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  produced  a  card.  I  took 
it,  and  read: 

JEFFRIES  CASE,  Barrister. 

"  A  lawyer !  "  said  I  suspiciously. 
"My  dear  man,"  he  rejoined  with  a  slight  im 
patience,  "  I  am  not  here  to  do  your  young  friend  a 


THE  REMITTANCE  MAN  55 
harm.  In  fact,  my  firm  have  been  his  family  solici 
tors  for  generations." 

"  Very  well,"  I  agreed,  and  led  the  way  to  the 
one-room  adobe  that  Tim  and  I  occupied. 

If  I  had  expected  an  enthusiastic  greeting  for  the 
boyhood  friend  from  the  old  home,  I  would  have  been 
disappointed.  Tim  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the 
door  reading  an  old  magazine.  When  we  entered  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  Case,"  said  he,  and  went  on  reading.  After 
a  moment  he  said  without  looking  up,  "  Sit  down." 

The  little  man  took  it  calmly,  deposited  himself  in 
a  chair  and  his  bag  between  his  feet,  and  looked  about 
him  daintily  at  our  rough  quarters.  I  made  a  move 
to  go,  whereupon  Tim  laid  down  his  magazine, 
yawned,  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head,  and 
sighed. 

"Don't  go,  Harry,"  he  begged.  "Well,  Case," 
he  addressed  the  barrister,  "what  is  it  this  time? 
Must  be  something  devilish  important  to  bring  you 
• — how  many  thousand  miles  is  it — into  such  a  coun 
try  as  this." 

"  It  is  important,  Mr.  Clare,"  stated  the  lawyer 
in  his  dry  sing-soag  tones;  "  but  my  journey  might 


56  ARIZONA   NIGHTS 

have  been  avoided  had  you  paid  some  attention  to 
my  letters." 

"  Letters ! "  repeated  Tim,  opening  his  eyes. 
"  My  dear  chap,  I've  had  no  letters." 

"  Addressed  as  usual  to  your  New  York  bankers." 

Tim  laughed  softly.  "  Where  they  are,  with  my 
last  two  quarters'  allowance.  I  especially  instructed 
them  to  send  me  no  mail.  One  spends  no  money  in 
this  country."  He  paused,  pulling  his  moustache. 
"  I'm  truly  sorry  you  had  to  come  so  far,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  and  if  your  business  is,  as  I  suspect,  the  old 
one  of  inducing  me  to  return  to  my  dear  uncle's  arms, 
I  assure  you  the  mission  will  prove  quite  fruitless. 
Uncle  Hillary  and  I  could  never  live  in  the  same 
county,  let  alone  the  same  house." 

"  And  yet  your  uncle,  the  Viscount  Mar,  was  very 
fond  of  you,"  ventured  Case.  "  Your  allowances " 

"  Oh,  I  grant  you  his  generosity  in  money  af 
fairs " 

"  He  has  continued  that  generosity  in  the  terms 
of  his  will,  and  those  terms  I  am  here  to  communicate 
to  you." 

"  Uncle  Hillary  is  dead! "  cried  Tim. 

"  He  passed  away  the  sixteenth  of  last  June." 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       57 

A  slight  pause  ensued. 

"  I  am  ready  to  hear  you,"  said  Tim  soberly,  at 
last. 

The  barrister  stooped  and  began  to  fumble  with 
his  bag. 

"  No,  not  that !  "  cried  Tim,  with  some  impatience. 
"  Tell  me  in  your  own  words." 

The  lawyer  sat  back  and  pressed  his  finger  points 
together  over  his  stomach. 

66  The  late  Viscount,"  said  he,  "  has  been  gra 
ciously  pleased  to  leave  you  in  fee  simple  his  entire 
estate  of  Staghurst,  together  with  its  buildings, 
rentals,  and  privileges.  This,  besides  the  residential 
rights,  amounts  to  some  ten  thousands  pounds  ster 
ling  per  annum." 

"  A  little  less  than  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
Harry,"  Tim  shot  over  his  shoulder  at  me. 

"  There  is  one  condition,"  put  in  the  lawyer. 

"  Oh,  there  is !  "  exclaimed  Tim,  his  crest  falling. 
"  Well,  knowing  my  Uncle  Hillary " 

"  The  condition  is  not  extravagant,"  the  lawyer 
hastily  interposed.  "  It  merely  entails  continued  resi 
dence  in  England,  and  a  minimum  of  nine  months 
on  the  estate.  This  provision  is  absolute,  and  the 


58  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

estate  reverts  on  its  discontinuance,  but  may  I  be 
permitted  to  observe  that  the  majority  of  men,  my 
self  among  the  number,  are  content  to  spend  the 
most  of  their  lives,  not  merely  in  the  confines  of  a 
kingdom,  but  between  the  four  walls  of  a  room,  for 
much  less  than  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year.  Also 
that  England  is  not  without  its  attractions  for  an 
Englishman,  and  that  Staghurst  is  a  country  place 
of  many  possibilities." 

The  Honourable  Timothy  had  recovered  from  his 
first  surprise. 

"And  if  the  condition  is  not  complied  with?" 
he  inquired. 

"Then  the  estate  reverts  to  the  heirs  at  law, 
and  you  receive  an  annuity  of  one  hundred  pounds, 
payable  quarterly." 

"  May  I  ask  further  the  reason  for  this  extraor 
dinary  condition?  " 

"My  distinguished  client  never  informed  me," 
replied  the  lawyer,  "  but  " — and  a  twinkle  appeared 
in  his  eye —  "  as  an  occasional  disburser  of  funds — 
Monte  Carlo " 

Tim  burst  out  laughing. 

"Oh,  but  I  recognise  Uncle  Hillary  there!"  he 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       59 

cried.  "  Well,  Mr.  Case,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Johnson,  the 
owner  of  this  ranch,  can  put  you  up,  and  to-morrow 
we'll  start  back." 

He  returned  after  a  few  minutes  to  find  me  sitting 
smoking  a  moody  pipe.  I  liked  Tim,  and  I  was  sorry 
to  have  him  go.  Then,  too,  I  was  ruffled,  in  the  sense 
less  manner  of  youth,  by  the  sudden  altitude  to  which 
his  changed  fortunes  had  lifted  him.  He  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  surveying  me,  then  came 
across  and  laid  his  arm  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Well,"  I  growled,  without  looking  up,  "  you're 
a  very  rich  man  now,  Mr.  Clare." 

At  that  he  jerked  me  bodily  out  of  my  seat  and 
stood  me  up  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  the  Irish 
blazing  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  Here,  none  of  that ! "  he  snapped.  "  You  damn 
little  fool !  Don't  you  «  Mr.  Clare  '  me !  " 

So  in  five  minutes  we  were  talking  it  over.  Tim 
was  very  much  excited  at  the  prospect.  He  knew 
Staghurst  well,  and  told  me  all  about  the  big  stone 
house,  and  the  avenue  through  the  trees;  and  the 
hedge-row  roads,  and  the  lawn  with  its  peacocks, 
and  the  round  green  hills,  and  the  labourers'  cottages. 

"  It's  home,"  said  he,  "  and  I  didn't  realise  before 


60  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

how  much  I  wanted  to  see  it.  And  I'll  be  a  man  of 
weight  there,  Harry,  and  it'll  be  mighty  good." 

We  made  all  sorts  of  plans  as  to  how  I  was  going 
to  visit  him  just  as  soon  as  I  could  get  together 
the  money  for  the  passage.  He  had  the  delicacy  not 
to  offer  to  let  me  have  it ;  and  that  clinched  my  trust 
and  love  of  him. 

The  next  day  he  drove  away  with  Tony  and  the 
dapper  little  lawyer.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that 
I  watched  the  buckboard  until  it  disappeared  in  the 
mirage. 

I  was  with  Buck  Johnson  all  that  summer,  and  the 
following  winter,  as  well.  We  had  our  first  round-up, 
found  the  natural  increase  much  in  excess  of  the  loss 
by  Indians,  and  extended  our  holdings  up  over  the 
Rock  Creek  country.  We  witnessed  the  start  of  many 
Indian  campaigns,  participated  in  a  few  little 
brushes  with  the  Chirieahuas,  saw  the  beginning  of 
the  cattle-rustling.  A  man  had  not  much  opportu 
nity  to  think  of  anything  but  what  he  had  right 
on  hand,  but  I  found  time  for  a  few  speculations  on 
Tim.  I  wondered  how  he  looked  now,  and  what  he 
was  doing,  and  how  in  blazes  he  managed  to  get 
away  with  fifty  thousand  a  year. 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN       61 

And  then  one  Sunday  in  June,  while  I  was  lying 
on  my  bunk,  Tim  pushed  open  the  door  and  walked 
in.  I  was  young,  but  I'd  seen  a  lot,  and  I  knew  the 
expression  of  his  face.  So  I  laid  low  and  said  noth 
ing. 

In  a  minute  the  door  opened  again,  and  Buck 
Johnson  himself  came  in. 

"  How  do,"  said  he ;  "  I  saw  you  ride  up." 

"  How  do  you  do,"  replied  Tim. 

"  I  know  all  about  you,"  said  Buck,  without  any 
preliminaries ;  "  your  man,  Case,  has  wrote  me.  I 
don't  know  your  reasons,  and  I  don't  want  to  know 
— it's  none  of  my  business — and  I  ain't  goin'  to  tell 
you  just  what  kind  of  a  damn  fool  I  think  you  are 
— that's  none  of  my  business,  either.  But  I  want 
you  to  understand  without  question  how  you  stand 
on  the  ranch." 

"  Quite  good,  sir,"  said  Tim  very  quietly. 

"  When  you  were  out  here  before  I  was  glad  to 
have  you  here  as  a  sort  of  guest.  Then  you  were 
what  I've  heerd  called  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  Now 
you're  nothin'  but  a  remittance  man.  Your  money's 
nothin'  to  me,  but  the  principle  of  the  thing  is.  The 
country  is  plumb  pestered  with  remittance  men,  doin' 


62  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

nothin',  and  I  don't  aim  to  run  no  home  for  incom 
petents.  I  had  a  son  of  a  duke  drivin'  wagon  for 
me;  and  he  couldn't  drive  nails  in  a  snow-bank.  So 
don't  you  herd  up  with  the  idea  that  you  can  come 
on  this  ranch  and  loaf." 

"  I  don't  want  to  loaf,"  put  in  Tim,  "  I  want  a 
job." 

"  I'm  willing  to  give  you  a  job,"  replied  Buck, 
"but  it's  jest  an  ordinary  cow-puncher's  job  at 
forty  a  month.  And  if  you  don't  fill  your  saddle, 
it  goes  to  someone  else." 

"  That  is  satisfactory,"  agreed  Tim. 

"  All  right,"  finished  Buck,  "  so  that's  understood. 
Your  friend  Case  wanted  me  to  give  you  a  lot  of 
advice.  A  man  generally  has  about  as  much  use  for 
advice  as  a  cow  has  for  four  hind  legs." 

He  went  out. 

"For  God's  sake,  what's  up?"  I  cried,  leaping 
from  my  bunk. 

"  Hullo,  Harry,"  said  he,  as  though  he  had  seen 
me  the  day  before,  "  I've  come  back." 

"  How  come  back? "  I  asked.  "  I  thought  you 
couldn't  leave  the  estate.  Have  they  broken  the 
will?" 

«  No,"  said  he. 


THE     REMITTANCE    MAN      63 

"Is  the  money  lost?" 

."  No." 

"Then  what?" 

"  The  long  and  short  of  it  is,  that  I  couldn't  af 
ford  that  estate  and  that  money." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I've  given  it  up." 

«  Given  it  up !  What  for?  " 

"To  come  back  here." 

I  took  this  all  in  slowly. 

"  Tim  Clare,"  said  I  at  last,  "  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  have  given  up  an  English  estate  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  to  be  a  remittance  man 
at  five  hundred,  and  a  cow-puncher  on  as  much 
more?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  he. 

"  Tim,"  I  adjured  him  solemnly,  "  you  are  a  damn 
fool!" 

"  Maybe,"  he  agreed. 

*  Why  did  you  do  it?  "  I  begged. 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  looked  out  across  the 
desert  to  where  the  mountains  hovered  like  soap- 
bubbles  on  the  horizon.  For  a  long  time  he  looked; 
then  whirled  on  me. 

"  Harry,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  remem- 


64  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

her  the  camp  we  made  on  the  shoulder  of  the  moun* 
tain  that  night  we  were  caught  out?  And  do  you 
remember  how  the  dawn  came  up  on  the  big  snow 
peaks  across  the  way — and  all  the  canon  below  us 
filled  with  whirling  mists — and  the  steel  stars  leav 
ing  us  one  by  one?  Where  could  I  find  room  for  that 
in  English  paddocks?  And  do  you  recall  the  day 
we  trailed  across  the  Yuma  deserts,  and  the  sun  beat 
into  our  skulls,  and  the  dry,  brittle  hills  looked  like 
papier-mache,  and  the  grey  sage-bush  ran  off  into 
the  rise  of  the  hills;  and  then  came  sunset  and  the 
hard,  dry  mountains  grew  filmy,  like  gauze  veils 
of  many  colours,  and  melted  and  glowed  and  faded 
to  slate  blue,  and  the  stars  came  out?  The  English 
hills  are  rounded  and  green  and  curried,  and  the 
sky  is  near,  and  the  stars  only  a  few  miles  up.  And 
do  you  recollect  that  dark  night  when  old  Loco  and 
his  warriors  were  camped  at  the  base  of  Cochise's 
Stronghold,  and  we  crept  down  through  the  velvet 
dark  wondering  when  we  would  be  discovered,  our 
mouths  sticky  with  excitement,  and  the  little  winds 
blowing?  " 

He  walked  up  and  down  a  half-dozen  times,  his 
breast  heaving. 


THE     REMITTANCE     MAN      65 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  the  man  who  is  brought 

up  to  it,  and  who  has  seen  nothing  else.  Case  can 

exist  in  four  walls ;  he  has  been  brought  up  to  it 

and  knows  nothing  different.  But  a  man  like  me 

"  They  wanted  me  to  canter  between  hedge-rows 
— I  who  have  ridden  the  desert  where  the  sky  over 
me  and  the  plain  under  me  were  bigger  than  the 
Islander's  universe !  They  wanted  me  to  oversee  little 
farms — I  who  have  watched  the  sun  rising  over  half 
a  world!  Talk  of  your  ten  thou'  a  year,  and  what 
it'll  buy !  You  know,  Harry,  how  it  feels  when 
a  steer  takes  the  slack  of  your  rope,  and  your  pony 
sits  back!  Where  in  England  can  I  buy  that?  You 
know  the  rising  and  the  falling  of  days,  and  the 
boundless  spaces  where  your  heart  grows  big,  and 
the  thirst  of  the  desert  and  the  hunger  of  the  trail, 
and  a  sun  that  shines  and  fills  the  sky,  and  a  wind 
that  blows  fresh  from  the  wide  places!  Where  in 
parcelled,  snug,  green,  tight  little  England  could 
I  buy  that  with  ten  thou' — aye,  or  an  hundi  ed  times 
ten  thou'?  No,  no,  Harry,  that  fortune  would  cost 
me  too  dear.  I  have  seen  and  done  and  been  too 
much.  I've  come  back  to  the  Big  Country,  where  the 
pay  is  poor  and  the  work  is  hard  and  the  comfort 


66  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

small,   bat   where   a   man   and   his    soul   meet   their 
Maker  face  to  face." 

The  Cattleman  had  finished  his  yarn.  For  a  time 
no  one  spoke.  Outside,  the  volume  of  rain  was  sub 
siding.  Windy  Bill  reported  a  few  stars  shining 
through  rifts  in  the  showers.  The  chill  that  precedes 
the  dawn  brought  us  as  close  to  the  fire  as  the 
smouldering  guano  would  permit. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  was  right  or  wrong," 
mused  the  Cattleman,  after  a  while.  "  A  man  can 
do  a  heap  with  that  much  money.  And  yet  an  old 
'  alkali '  is  never  happy  anywhere  else.  However," 
he  concluded  emphatically,  "  one  thing  I  do  know : 
rain,  cold,  hunger,  discomfort,  curses,  kicks,  and 
violent  deaths  included,  there  isn't  one  of  you  grum 
blers  who  would  hold  that  gardening  job  you  spoke 
of  three  days !  " 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

THE    CATTLE    RUSTLERS 

DAWN  broke,  so  we  descended  through  wet  grasses 
to  the  canon.  There,  after  some  difficulty,  we  man 
aged  to  start  a  fire,  and  so  ate  breakfast,  the  rain 
still  pouring  down  on  us.  About  nine  o'clock,  with 
miraculous  suddenness,  the  torrent  stopped.  It  be 
gan  to  turn  cold.  The  Cattleman  and  I  decided  to 
climb  to  the  top  of  the  butte  after  meat,  which  we 
entirely  lacked. 

It  was  rather  a  stiff  ascent,  but  once  above  the 
sheer  cliffs  we  found  ourselves  on  a  rolling  meadow 
tableland,  a  half-mile  broad  by,  perhaps,  a  mile  and 
a  half  in  length.  Grass  grew  high ;  here  and  there 
were  small  live  oaks  planted  park-like;  slight  arid 
rounded  ravines  accommodated  brooklets.  As  we 
walked  back,  the  edges  blended  in  the  edges  of  the 
mesa  across  the  canon.  The  deep  gorges,  which  had 
heretofore  seemed  the  most  prominent  elements  of 
the  scenery,  were  lost.  We  stood,  apparently,  in 


68  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  middle  of  a  wide  and  undulating  plain,  diversified 
by  little  ridges,  and  running  with  a  free  sweep  to 
the  very  foot  of  the  snowy  Galiuros.  It  seemed  as 
though  we  should  be  able  to  ride  horseback  in  al 
most  any  given  direction.  Yet  we  knew  that  ten 
minutes'  walk  would  take  us  to  the  brink  of  most 
stupendous  chasms — so  deep  that  the  water  flowing 
in  them  hardly  seemed  to  move ;  so  rugged  that  only 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  could  a  horseman  make 
his  way  through  the  country  at  all;  and  yet  so  an 
cient  that  the  bottoms  supported  forests,  rich 
grasses,  and  rounded,  gentle  knolls.  It  was  a  most 
astonishing  set  of  double  impressions. 

We  succeeded  in  killing  a  nice,  fat  white-tail 
buck,  and  so  returned  to  camp  happy.  The  rain 
held  off.  We  dug  ditches,  organised  shelters,  cooked 
a  warm  meal.  For  the  next  day  we  planned  a  bear 
hunt  afoot,  far  up  a  manzanita  canon  where  Uncle 
Jim  knew  of  some  "  holing  up  "  caves. 

But  when  we  awoke  in  the  morning  we  threw  aside 
our  coverings  with  some  difficulty  to  look  on  a 
ground  covered  with  snow;  trees  laden  almost  to 
the  breaking'  point  with  snow,  and  the  air  filled 
with  it. 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      69 

"  No  bear  to-day,"  said  the  Cattleman. 

"  No,"  agreed  Uncle  Jim  drily.  "  No  b'ar.  And 
what's  more,  unless  yo're  aimin'  to  stop  here  some 
what  of  a  spell,  we'll  have  to  make  out  to-day." 

We  cooked  with  freezing  fingers,  ate  while  dodg 
ing  avalanches  from  the  trees,  and  packed  reluc 
tantly.  The  ropes  were  f ozen,  the  hobbles  stiff,  every 
thing  either  crackling  or  wet.  Finally  the  task  was 
finished.  We  took  a  last  warming  of  the  fingers  and 
climbed  on. 

The  country  was  wonderfully  beautiful  with  the 
white  not  yet  shaken  from  the  trees  and  rock  ledges. 
Also  it  was  wonderfully  slippery.  The  snow  was 
soft  enough  to  ball  under  the  horses'  hoofs,  so  that 
most  of  the  time  the  poor  animals  skated  and  stum 
bled  along  on  stilts.  Thus  we  made  our  way  back 
over  ground  which,  naked  of  these  difficulties,  we 
had  considered  bad  enough.  Imagine  riding  along 
a  slant  of  rock  shelving  off  to  a  bad  tumble,  so  steep 
that  your  pony  has  to  do  more  or  less  expert  ankle 
work  to  keep  from  slipping  off  sideways.  During 
the  passage  of  that  rock  you  are  apt  to  sit  very 
light.  Now  cover  it  with  several  inches  of  snow, 
stick  a  snowball  on  each  hoof  of  your  mount,  and 


70  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

try  again.  When  you  have  ridden  it — or  its  dupli 
cate — a  few  score  of  times,  select  a  steep  mountain 
side,  cover  it  with  round  rocks  the  size  of  your  head, 
and  over  that  spread  a  concealing  blanket  of  the 
same  sticky  snow.  You  are  privileged  to  vary  these 
to  the  limits  of  your  imagination. 

Once  across  the  divide,  we  ran  into  a  new  sort 
of  trouble.  You  may  remember  that  on  our  journey 
over  we  had  been  forced  to  travel  for  some  distance 
in  a  narrow  stream-bed.  During  our  passage  we 
had  scrambled  up  some  rather  steep  and  rough 
slopes,  and  hopped  up  some  fairly  high  ledges. 
Now  we  found  the  heretofore  dry  bed  flowing  a 
good  eight  inches  deep.  The  steep  slopes  had  be 
come  cascades ;  the  ledges,  waterfalls.  When  we  came 
to  them,  we  had  to  "  shoot  the  rapids  "  as  best  we 
could,  only  to  land  with  a  plunk  in  an  indetermi 
nately  deep  pool  at  the  bottom.  Some  of  the  pack 
horses  went  down,  sousing  again  our  unfortunate 
bedding,  but  by  the  grace  of  fortune  not  a  saddle 
pony  lost  his  feet. 

After  a  time  the  gorge  widened.  We  came  out 
into  the  box  canon  with  its  trees.  Here  the  water 
spread  and  shoaled  to  a  depth  of  only  two  or  three 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      71 

inches.  We  splashed  along  gaily  enough,  for,  with 
the  exception  of  an  occasional  quicksand  or  boggy 
spot,  our  troubles  were  over. 

Jed  Parker  and  I  happened  to  ride  side  by  side, 
bringing  up  the  rear  and  seeing  to  it  that  the  pack 
animals  did  not  stray  or  linger.  As  we  passed  the 
first  of  the  rustlers'  corrals,  he  called  my  attention 
to  them. 

"Go  take  a  look,"  said  he.  "We  only  got  those 
fellows  out  of  here  two  years  ago." 

I  rode  over.  At  this  point  the  rim-rock  broke  to 
admit  the  ingress  of  a  ravine  into  the  main  canon. 
Riding  a  short  distance  up  the  ravine,  I  could  see 
that  it  ended  abruptly  in  a  perpendicular  cliff.  As 
the  sides  also  were  precipitous,  it  became  necessary 
only  to  build  a  fence  across  the  entrance  into  the 
main  canon  to  become  possessed  of  a  corral  com 
pletely  closed  in.  Remembering  the  absolute  invisi 
bility  of  these  sunken  canons  until  the  rider  is 
almost  directly  over  them,  and  also  the  extreme 
roughness  and  remoteness  of  the  district,  I  could  see 
that  the  spot  was  admirably  adapted  to  conceal 
ment. 

"  There's  quite  a  yarn  about  the  gang  that  held 


72  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

this  hole,"  said  Jed  Parker  to  me,  when  I  had  ridden 
back  to  him.  "  I'll  tell  you  about  it  sometime." 

We  climbed  the  hill,  descended  on  the  Double  R, 
built  a  fire  in  the  stove,  dried  out,  and  were  happy. 
After  a  square  meal — and  a  dry  one — I  reminded 
Jed  Parker  of  his  promise,  and  so,  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  his  "  so-gun  "  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
he  told  us  the  following  yarn : 

There's  a  good  deal  of  romance  been  written 
about  the  "  bad  man,"  and  there's  about  the  same 
amount  of  nonsense.  The  bad  man  is  just  a  plain 
murderer,  neither  more  nor  less.  He  never  does  get 
into  a  real,  good,  plain,  stand-up  gun  fight  if  he 
can  possibly  help  it.  His  killin's  are  done  from  be 
hind  a  door,  or  when  he's  got  his  man  dead  to  rights. 
There's  Sam  Cook.  You've  all  heard  of  him.  He  had 
nerve,  of  course,  and  when  he  was  backed  into  a  cor 
ner  he  made  good ;  and  he  was  sure  sudden  death  with 
a  gun.  But  when  he  went  out  for  a  man  deliberate, 
he  didn't  take  no  special  chances.  For  a  while  he 
was  marshal  at  Willets.  Pretty  soon  it  was  noted 
that  there  was  a  heap  of  cases  of  resisting  arrest, 
where  Sam  as  marshal  had  to  shoot,  and  that  those 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      73 

cases  almost  always  happened  to  be  his  personal 
enemies.  Of  course,  that  might  be  all  right,  but  it 
looked  suspicious.  Then  one  day  he  killed  poor  old 
Max  Schmidt  out  behind  his  own  saloon.  Called  him 
out  and  shot  him  in  the  stomach.  Said  Max  resisted 
arrest  on  a  warrant  for  keepin'  open  out  of  hours ! 
That  was  a  sweet  warrant  to  take  out  in  Willets, 
anyway!  Mrs.  Schmidt  always  claimed  that  she  saw 
that  deal  played,  and  that,  while  they  were  talkin' 
perfectly  peaceable,  Cook  let  drive  from  the  hip 
at  about  two  yards'  range.  Anyway,  we  decided  we 
needed  another  marshal.  Nothin'  else  was  ever  done, 
for  the  Vigilantes  hadn't  been  formed,  and  your  in 
dividual  and  decent  citizen  doesn't  care  to  be  marked 
by  a  bad  man  of  that  stripe.  Leastways,  unless  he 
wants  to  go  in  for  bad-man  methods  and  do  a  little 
ambusheein'  on  his  own  account. 

The  point  is,  that  these  yere  bad  men  are  a  low- 
down,  miserable  proposition,  and  plain,  cold-blood 
murderers,  willin'  to  wait  for  a  sure  thing,  and  with 
out  no  compunctions  whatever.  The  bad  man  takes 
you  unawares,  when  you're  sleepin',  or  talkin',  or 
drinkin',  or  lookin'  to  see  what  for  a  day  it's  goiii' 
to  be,  anyway.  He  don't  give  you  no  show,  and 


74  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

sooner  or  later  he's  goin'  to  get  you  in  the  safest 
and  easiest  way  for  himself.  There  ain't  no  romance 
about  that. 

And,  until  you've  seen  a  few  men  called  out  of 
their  shacks  for  a  friendly  conversation,  and  shot 
when  they  happen  to  look  away;  'or  asked  for  a 
drink  of  water,  and  killed  when  they  stoop  to  the 
spring;  or  potted  from  behind  as  they  go  into  a 
room,  it's  pretty  hard  to  believe  that  any  man  can 
be  so  plumb  lackin'  in  fair  play  or  pity  or  just 
natural  humanity. 

As  you  boys  know,  I  come  in  from  Texas  to  Buck 
Johnson's  about  ten  year  back.  I  had  a  pretty  good 
mount  of  ponies  that  I  knew,  and  I  hated  to  let 
them  go  at  prices  they  were  offerin'  then,  so  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  ride  across  and  bring  them  in  with 
me.  It  wasn't  so  awful  far,  and  I  figured  that  I'd 
like  to  take  in  what  New  Mexico  looked  like  any 
way. 

About  down  by  Albuquerque  I  tracked  up  with 
another  outfit  headed  my  way.  There  was  five  of 
them,  three  men,  and  a  woman,  and  a  yearlin'  baby. 
They  had  a  dozen  hosses,  and  that  was  about  all 
I  could  see.  There  was  only  two  packed,  and  no 


THE  CATTLE  RUSTLERS  75 
wagon.  I  suppose  the  whole  outfit — pots,  pans,  and 
kettles — was  worth  five  dollars.  It  was  just  supper 
when  I  run  across  them,  and  it  didn't  take  more'n 
one  look  to  discover  that  flour,  coffee,  sugar,  and  salt 
was  all  they  carried.  A  yearlin'  carcass,  half -skinned, 
lay  near,  and  the  fry-pan  was  full  of  meat. 

"  Howdy,  strangers,"  says  I,  ridin'  up. 

They  nodded  a  little,  but  didn't  say  nothin'.  My 
bosses  fell  to  grazin',  and  I  eased  myself  around  in 
my  saddle,  and  made  a  cigareet.  The  men  was  tall, 
lank  fellows,  with  kind  of  sullen  faces,  and  sly, 
shifty  eyes;  the  woman  was  dirty  and  generally 
mussed  up.  I  knowed  that  sort  all  right.  Texas  was 
gettin'  too  many  fences  for  them. 

"  Havin'  supper?  "  says  I,  cheerful. 

One  of  'em  grunted  "  Yes  "  at  me ;  and,  after  a 
while,  the  biggest  asked  me  very  grudgin'  if  I 
wouldn't  light  and  eat,  I  told  them  "No,"  that  I 
was  travellin'  in  the  cool  of  the  evenin'. 

6  You  seem  to  have  more  meat  than  you  need, 
though,"  says  I.  "I  could  use  a  little  of  that." 

"  Help  yourself,"  says  they.  "  It's  a  maverick  we 
come  across." 

I  took  a  steak,  and  noted  that  the  hide  had  been 


76  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

mighty  well  cut  to  ribbons  around  the  flanks,  and 
that  the  head  was  gone. 

"  Well,"  says  I  to  the  carcass,  "  no  one's  goin' 
to  be  able  to  swear  whether  you're  a  maverick  or 
not,  but  I  bet  you  knew  the  feel  of  a  brandin'  iron 
all  right." 

I  gave  them  a  thank-you,  and  climbed  on  again. 
My  bosses  acted  some  surprised  at  bein'  gathered 
up  again,  but  I  couldn't  help  that. 

"  It  looks  like  a  plumb  imposition,  cavallos,"  says 
I  to  them,  "  after  an  all-day,  but  you  sure  don't 
want  to  join  that  outfit  any  more  than  I  -do  the 
angels,  and  if  we  camp  here  we're  likely  to  do  both." 

I  didn't  see  them  any  more  after  that  until  I'd 
hit  the  Lazy  Y,  and  had  started  in  runnin'  cattle  in 
the  Soda  Springs  Valley.  Larry  Eagen  and  me  rode 
together  those  days,  and  that's  how  I  got  to  know 
him  pretty  well.  One  day,  over  in  the  Elm  Flat, 
we  ran  smack  on  this  Texas  outfit  again,  headed 
north.  This  time  I  was  on  my  own  range,  and  I 
knew  where  I  stood,  so  I  could  show  a  little  more 
curiosity  in  the  case. 

"  Well,  you  got  this  far,"  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  they. 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      77 

"Where  you  headed?" 

"  Over  towards  the  hills." 

"What  to  do?" 

"  Make  a  ranch,  raise  some  truck ;  perhaps  buy 
a  few  cows." 

They  went  on. 

"  Truck  f  armin',"  says  I  to  Larry,  "  is  fine  pros 
pects  in  this  country." 

He  sat  on  his  horse  lookin'  after  them. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  them,"  says  he.  "  It  must  be  al 
mighty  hard  scratchin'." 

Well,  we  rode  the  range  for  upwards  of  two 
year.  In  that  time  we  saw  our  Texas  friends — name 
of  Hahn — two  or  three  times  in  Willets,  and  heard 
of  them  off  and  on.  They  bought  an  old  brand  of 
Steve  McWilliams  for  seventy-five  dollars,  carryin' 
six  or  eight  head  of  cows.  After  that,  from  time 
to  time,  we  heard  of  them  buyin'  more — two  or  three 
head  from  one  man,  and  two  or  three  from  another. 
They  branded  them  all  with  that  McWilliams  iron 
— T  O — so,  pretty  soon,  we  began  to  see  the  cattle 
on  the  range. 

Now,  a  good  cattleman  knows  cattle  just  as  well 
as  you  know  people,  and  he  can  tell  them  about  as 


78  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

far  off.  Horned  critters  look  alike  to  you,  but  even 
in  a  country  supportin'  a  good  many  thousand  head, 
a  man  used  to  the  business  can  recognise  most  every 
individual  as  far  as  he  can  see  him.  Some  is  better 
than  others  at  it.  I  suppose  you  really  have  to  be 
brought  up  to  it.  So  we  boys  at  the  Lazy  Y  noted 
all  the  cattle  with  the  new  T  O,  and  could  estimate 
pretty  close  that  the  Hahn  outfit  might  own,  maybe, 
thirty-five  head  all  told. 

That  was  all  very  well,  and  nobody  had  any  kick 
comin'.  Then,  one  day  in  the  spring,  we  came  across 
our  first  "  sleeper." 

What's  a  sleeper?  A  sleeper  is  a  calf  that  has 
been  ear-marked,  but  not  branded.  Every  owner  has 
a  certain  brand,  as  you  know,  and  then  he  crops  and 
slits  the  ears  in  a  certain  way,  too.  In  that  manner 
he  don't  have  to  look  at  the  brand,  except  to  cor 
roborate  the  ears ;  and,  as  the  critter  generally  sticks 
his  ears  up  inquirin'-like  to  anyone  ridin'  up,  it's 
easy  to  know  the  brand  without  lookin'  at  it,  merely, 
from  the  ear-marks.  Once  in  a  great  while,  when  a 
man  comes  across  an  unbranded  calf,  and  it  ain't 
handy  to  build  a  fire,  he  just  ear-marks  it  and  let's 
the  brandin'  go  till  later.  But  it  isn't  done  often, 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      79 

and  our  outfit  had  strict  orders  never  to  make 
sleepers. 

Well,  one  day  in  the  spring,  as  I  say,  Larry  and 
me  was  ridin',  when  we  came  across  a  Lazy  Y  cow 
and  calf.  The  little  fellow  was  ear-marked  all  right, 
so  we  rode  on,  and  never  would  have  discovered 
nothin'  if  a  bush  rabbit  hadn't  jumped  and  scared 
the  calf  right  across  in  front  of  our  hosses.  Then 
we  couldn't  help  but  see  that  there  wasn't  no 
brand. 

Of  course  we  roped  him  and  put  the  iron  on  him. 
I  took  the  chance  to  look  at  his  ears,  and  saw  that 
the  marking  had  been  done  quite  recent,  so  when 
we  got  in  that  night  I  reported  to  Buck  Johnson 
that  one  of  the  punchers  was  gettin'  lazy  and  sleep- 
erin'.  Naturally  he  went  after  the  man  who  had 
done  it;  but  every  puncher  swore  up  and  down,  and 
back  and  across,  that  he'd  branded  every  calf  he'd 
had  a  rope  on  that  spring.  We  put  it  down  that 
someone  was  lyin',  and  let  it  go  at  that. 

And  then,  about  a  week  later,  one  of  the  other 
boys  reported  a  Triangle-H  sleeper.  The  Triangle- 
H  was  the  Goodrich  brand,  so  we  didn't  have  nothin* 
to  do  with  that.  Some  of  them  might  be  sleeperm* 


80  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

for  all  we  knew.  Three  other  cases  of  the  same  kind 
we  happened  across  that  same  spring. 

So  far,  so  good.  Sleepers  runnin'  in  such  numbers 
was  a  little  astonishin',  but  nothin'  suspicious.  Cat 
tle  did  well  that  summer,  and  when  we  come  to  round 
up  in  the  fall,  we  cut  out  maybe  a  dozen  of  those 
T  O  cattle  that  had  strayed  out  of  that  Hahn  coun 
try.  Of  the  dozen  there  was  five  grown  cows,  and 
seven  yearlin's. 

"My  Lord,  Jed,"  says  Buck  to  me,  "  they's  a 
heap  of  these  youngsters  comin'  over  our  way." 

But  still,  as  a  young  critter  is  more  apt  to  stray 
than  an  old  one  that's  got  his  range  established,  we 
didn't  lay  no  great  store  by  that  neither.  The  Hahns 
took  their  bunch,  and  that's  all  there  was  to  it. 

Next  spring,  though,  we  found  a  few  more  sleep 
ers,  and  one  day  we  came  on  a  cow  that  had  gone 
dead  lame.  That  was  usual,  too,  but  Buck,  who  was 
with  me,  had  somethin'  on  his  mind.  Finally  he 
turned  back  and  roped  her,  and  threw  her. 

"  Look  here,  Jed,"  says  he,  "  what  do  you  make 
of  this?" 

I  could  see  where  the  hind  legs  below  the  hocks 
had  been  burned. 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      81 

66  Looks  like  somebody  had  roped  her  by  the  hind 
feet,"  says  I. 

"  Might  be,"  says  he,  "  but  her  bein'  lame  that  way 
makes  it  look  more  like  hobbles." 

So  we  didn't  say  nothin'  more  about  that  neither, 
until  just  by  luck  we  came  on  another  lame  cow. 
We  threw  her,  too. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this  one?"  Buck 
Johnson  asks  me. 

"  The  feet  is  pretty  well  tore  up,"  says  I,  "  and 
down  to  the  quick,  but  I've  seen  them  tore  up  just 
as  bad  on  the  rocks  when  they  come  down  out  of 
the  mountains." 

You  sabe  what  that  meant,  cj.°n't  y°u?  You  see, 
a  rustler  will  take  a  cow  and  hobble  her,  or  lame  her 
so  she  can't  follow,  and  then  he'll  take  her  calf 
a  long  ways  off  and  brand  it  with  his  iron.  Of  course, 
if  we  was  to  see  a  calf  of  one  brand  followin'  of  a 
cow  with  another,  it  would  be  just  too  easy  to  guess 
what  had  happened. 

We  rode  on  mighty  thoughtful.  There  couldn't  be 
much  doubt  that  cattle  rustlers  was  at  work.  The 
sleepers  they  had  ear-marked,  hopin'  that  no  one 
would  discover  the  lack  of  a  brand.  Then,  after  the 


82  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

calf  was  weaned,  and  quit  followin'  of  his  mother, 
the  rustler  would  brand  it  with  his  own  iron,  and 
change  its  ear-mark  to  match.  It  made  a  nice,  easy 
way  of  gettin'  together  a  bunch  of  cattle  cheap. 

But  it  was  pretty  hard  to  guess  off-hand  who 
the  rustlers  might  be.  There  were  a  lot  of  rene 
gades  down  towards  the  Mexican  line  who  made  a 
raid  once  in  a  while,  and  a  few  oilers  1  livin'  near 
had  ,water  holes  in  the  foothills,  and  any  amount  of 
little  cattle  holders,  like  this  T  O  outfit,  and  any 
of  them  wouldn't  shy  very  hard  at  a  little  sleeperin' 
on  the  side.  Buck  Johnson  told  us  all  to  watch  out, 
and  passed  the  word  quiet  among  the  big  owners  to 
try  and  see  whose  ^cattle  seemed  to  have  too  many 
calves  for  the  number  of  cows. 

The  Texas  outfit  I'm  tellin'  you  about  had  settled 
up  above  in  this  Double  R  canon  where  I  showed 
you  those  natural  corrals  this  morning.  They'd 
built  them  a  'dobe,  and  cleared  some  land,  and  planted 
a  few  trees,  and  made  an  irrigated  patch  for  alfalfa. 
Nobody  never  rode  over  his  way  very  much,  'cause 
the  country  was  most  too  rough  for  cattle,  and  our 
ranges  lay  farther  to  the  southward.  Now,  however, 
we  began  to  extend  our  ridin'  a  little.  I  was  down 
1  "  Oilers  " — Greasers — Mexicans. 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      83 

towards  Dos  Cabesas  to  look  over  the  cattle  there, 
and  they  used  to  send  Larry  up  into  the  Double  R 
country.  One  evenin'  he  took  me  to  one  side. 

"  Look  here,  Jed,"  says  he,  "  I  know  you  pretty; 
well,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I'm  all  new 
at  this  cattle  business — in  fact,  I  haven't  been  at 
it  more'n  a  year.  What  should  be  the  proportion 
of  cows  to  calves  anyhow  ?  " 

"  There  ought  to  be  about  twice  as  many  cows 
as  there're  calves,"  I  tells  him. 

"  Then,  with  only  about  fifty  head  of  grown  cows, 
there  ought  not  to  be  an  equal  number  of  year- 
lin's?" 

"  I  should  say  not,"  says  I.  "  What  are  you 
drivin'  at?" 

"  Nothin'  yet,"  says  he. 

A  few  days  later  he  tackled  me  again. 

"  Jed,"  says  he,  "  I'm  not  good,  like  you  fellows 
are,  at  knowin'  one  cow  from  another,  but  there's 
a  calf  down  there  branded  T  O  that  I'd  pretty  near 
swear  I  saw  with  an  X  Y  cow  last  month.  I  wish 
you  could  come  down  with  me." 

We  got  that  fixed  easy  enough,  and  for  the  next 
month  rammed  around  through  this  broken  country, 


84  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

lookin'  for  evidence.  I  saw  enough  to  satisfy  me  to 
a  moral  certainty,  but  nothin'  for  a  sheriff ;  and,  of 
course,  we  couldn't  go  shoot  up  a  peaceful  rancher 
on  mere  suspicion.  Finally,  one  day,  we  run  on  a 
four-months'  calf  all  by  himself,  with  the  T  O  iron 
onto  him — a  mighty  healthy  lookin'  calf,  too. 

"  Wonder  where  his  mother  is ! "  says  I. 

"  Maybe  it's  a  '  dogie,'  "  says  Larry  Eagen — we 
calls  calves  whose  mothers  have  died  "  dogies." 

"  No,"  says  I,  "  I  don't  hardly  think  so.  A  dogie 
is  always  under  size  and  poor,  and  he's  layin'  around 
water  holes,  and  he  always  has  a  big,  sway  belly 
onto  him.  No,  this  is  no  dogie ;  and,  if  it's  an  honest 
calf,  there  sure  ought  to  be  a  T  O  cow  around  some 
where." 

So  we  separated  to  have  a  good  look.  Larry 
rode  up  on  the  edge  of  a  little  rim-rock.  In  a  minute 
I  saw  his  hoss  jump  back,  dodgin'  a  rattlesnake 
or  somethin',  and  then  fall  back  out  of  sight.  I 
jumped  my  hoss  up  there  tur'ble  quick,  and  looked 
over,  expectin'  to  see  nothin'  but  mangled  remains. 
It  was  only  about  fifteen  foot  down,  but  I  couldn't 
see  bottom  'count  of  some  brush. 


I  saw  his  horse  jump  back  dodgin'  a  rattlesnake  or  somethin' 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      85 

«  Are  you  all  right?  "  I  yells. 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  cries  Larry,  "  but  for  the  love  of 
God  get  down  here  as  quick  as  you  can." 

I  hopped  off  my  hoss  and  scrambled  down  some 
how. 

"  Hurt?  "  says  I,  as  soon  as  I  lit. 

"  Not  a  bit— look  here." 

There  was  a  dead  cow  with  the  Lazy  Y  on  her 
flank. 

"  And  a  bullet-hole  in  her  forehead,"  adds  Larry. 
"And,  look  here,  that  T  O  calf  was  bald-faced,  and 
so  was  this  cow." 

"  Reckon  we  found  our  sleepers,"  says  I. 

So,  there  we  was.  Larry  had  to  lead  his  cavallo 
down  the  barranca  to  the  main  canon.  I  followed 
along  on  the  rim,  waitin'  until  a  place  gave  me  a 
chance  to  get  down,  too,  or  Larry  a  chance  to  get 
up.  We  were  talkin'  back  and  forth  when,  all  at 
once,  Larry  shouted  again. 

"  Big  game  this  time,"  he  yells.  "  Here's  a  cave 
and  a  mountain  lion  squallin'  in  it." 

I  slid  down  to  him  at  once,  and  we  drew  our  six- 
shooters  and  went  up  to  the  cave  openin',  right  under 


86  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  rim-rock.  There,  sure  enough,  were  fresh  lion 
tracks,  and  we  could  hear  a  little  faint  cryin'  like 
a  woman. 

"  First  chance,"  claims  Larry,  and  dropped  to  his 
hands  and  knees  at  the  entrance. 

"  Well,  damn  me !  "  he  cries,  and  crawls  in  at  once, 
payin'  no  attention  to  me  tellin'  him  to  be  more 
cautious.  In  a  minute  he  backs  out,  carryin'  a 
three-year-old  girl. 

"  We  seem  to  be  in  for  adventures  to-day,"  says 
he.  "  Now,  where  do  you  suppose  that  came  from, 
and  how  did  it  get  here?  " 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  I've  followed  lion  tracks  where 
they've  carried  yearlin's  across  their  backs  like  a 
fox  does  a  goose.  They're  tur'ble  strong." 

"  But  where  did  she  come  from?  "  he  wonders. 

"  As  for  that,"  says  I,  "  don't  you  remember  now 
that  T  O  outfit  had  a  yearlin'  kid  when  it  came  into 
the  country  ?  " 

"  That's  right,"  says  he.  "  It's  only  a  mile  down 
the  canon.  I'll  take  it  home.  They  must  be  most 
distracted  about  it." 

So  I  scratched  up  to  the  top  where  my  pony  was 
•waitin'.  It  was  a  tur'ble  hard  climb,  and  I  'most  had 


THE     CATTLE    RUSTLERS     87 

to  have  hooks  on  my  eyebrows  to  get  up  at  all.  It's 
easier  to  slide  down  than  to  climb  back.  I  dropped 
my  gun  out  of  my  holster,  and  she  went  way  to  the 
bottom,  but  I  wouldn't  have  gone  back  for  six  guns. 
Larry  picked  it  up  for  me. 

So  we  went  along,  me  on  the  rim-rock  and  around 
the  barrancas,  and  Larry  in  the  bottom  carryin'  of 
the  kid. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  the  ranch  house,  so  I 
stopped  to  wait.  The  minute  Larry  hove  in  sight 
everybody  was  out  to  once,  and  in  two  winks  the 
woman  had  that  baby.  They  didn't  see  me  at  all, 
but  I  could  hear,  plain  enough,  what  they  said. 
Larry  told  how  he  had  found  her  in  the  cave,  and 
all  about  the  lion  tracks,  and  the  woman  cried  and 
held  the  kid  close  to  her,  and  thanked  him  about  forty 
times.  Then  when  she'd  wore  the  edge  off  a  little, 
she  took  the  kid  inside  to  feed  it  or  somethin'. 

"Well,"  says  "Larry,  still  laughin9,  "I  must  hit 
the  trail." 

"  You  say  you  found  her  up  the  Double  R? " 
asks  Hahn.  "  Was  it  that  cave  near  the  three  cottozt- 
woods?" 

"  Yes,"  says  Larry. 


88  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  Where'd  you  get  into  the  canon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  hoss  slipped  off  into  the  barranca  jirst 
above." 

"  The  barranca  just  above,"  repeats  Hahn,  lookin' 
straight  at  him. 

Larry  took  one  step  back. 

"You  ought  to  be  almighty  glad  I  got  into  the 
canon  at  all,"  says  he. 

Hahn  stepped  up,  holdin'  out  his  hand. 

"  That's  right,"  says  he.  "  You  done  us  a  good 
turn  there." 

Larry  took  his  hand.  At  the  same  time  Hahn 
pulled  his  gun  and  shot  him  through  the  middle. 

It  was  all  so  sudden  and  unexpected  that  I  stood 
there  paralysed.  Larry  fell  forward  the  way  a  man 
mostly  will  when  he's  hit  in  the  stomach,  but  some 
how  he  jerked  loose  a  gun  and  got  it  off  twice.  He 
didn't  hit  nothin',  and  I  reckon  he  was  dead  before 
he  hit  the  ground.  And  there  he  had  my  gun,  and  I 
was  about  as  useless  as  a  pocket  in  a  shirt ! 

No,  sir,  you  can  talk  as  much  as  you  please,  but 
the  killer  is  a  low-down  ornery  scub,  and  he  don't 
hesitate  at  no  treachery  or  ingratitude  to  keep  his 
carcass  safe. 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS      89 

Jed  Parker  ceased  talking.  The  dusk  had  fallen 
in  the  little  room,  and  dimly  could  be  seen  the  re 
cumbent  figures  lying  at  ease  on  their  blankets.  The 
ranch  foreman  was  sitting  bolt  upright,  cross-legged. 
A  faint  glow  from  his  pipe  barely  distinguished  his 
features. 

"  What  became  of  the  rustlers?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Well,  sir,  that  is  the  queer  part.  Hahn  himself, 
who  had  done  the  killin',  skipped  out.  We  got  out 
warrants,  of  course,  but  they  never  got  served.  He 
was  a  sort  of  half  outlaw  from  that  time,  and  was 
killed  finally  in  the  train  hold-up  of  '97.  But  the 
others  we  tried  for  rustling.  We  didn't  have  much 
of  a  case,  as  the  law  went  then,  and  they'd  have  gone 
free  if  the  woman  hadn't  turned  evidence  against 
them.  The  killin'  was  too  much  for  her.  And,  as 
the  precedent  held  good  in  a  lot  of  other  rustlin' 
cases,  Larry's  death  was  really  the  beginnin'  of  law 
and  order  in  the  cattle  business." 

We  smoked.  The  last  light  suddenly  showed  red 
against  the  grimy  window.  Windy  Bill  arose  and 
looked  out  the  door. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  returning,  "  she's  cleared  cff. 
We  can  get  back  to  the  ranch  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

THE    DRIVE 

A  CBY  awakened  me.  It  was  still  deep  night.  The 
moon  sailed  overhead,  the  stars  shone  unwavering 
like  candles,  and  a  chill  breeze  wandered  in  from 
the  open  spaces  of  the  desert.  I  raised  myself  on 
my  elbow,  throwing  aside  the  blankets  and  the  can 
vas  tarpaulin.  Forty  other  indistinct,  formless  bun 
dles  on  the  ground  all  about  me  were  sluggishly 
astir.  Four  figures  passed  and  repassed  between  me 
and  a  red  fire.  I  knew  them  for  the  two  cooks  and 
the  horse  wranglers.  One  of  the  latter  was  grum 
bling. 

"  Didn't  git  in  till  moon-up  last  night,"  he  growled. 
"  Might  as  well  trade  my  bed  for  a  lantern  and  be 
done  with  it." 

Even  as  I  stretched  my  arms  and  shivered  a  little, 
the  two  wranglers  threw  down  their  tin  plates  with 
a  clatter,  mounted  horses  and  rode  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  thousand  acres  or  so  known  as  the 
pasture. 

90 


THE    DRIVE  91 

I  pulled  on  my  clothes  hastily,  buckled  in  my 
buckskin  shirt,  and  dove  for  the  fire.  A  dozen  others 
were  before  me.  It  was  bitterly  cold.  In  the  east 
the  sky  had  paled  the  least  bit  in  the  world,  but  the 
moon  and  stars  shone  on  bravely  and  undiminished. 
A  band  of  coyotes  was  shrieking  desperate  blas 
phemies  against  the  new  day,  and  the  stray  herd, 
awakening,  was  beginning  to  bawl  and  bellow. 

Two  crater-like  dutch  ovens,  filled  with  pieces 
of  fried  beef,  stood  near  the  fire;  two  galvanised 
water  buckets,  brimming  with  soda  biscuits,  flanked 
them;  two  tremendous  coffee  pots  stood  guard  at 
either  end.  We  picked  us  each  a  tin  cup  and  a  tin 
plate  from  the  box  at  the  rear  of  the  chuck  wagon ; 
helped  ourselves  from  a  dutch  oven,  a  pail,  and  a 
coffee  pot,  and  squatted  on  our  heels  as  close  to 
the  fire  as  possible.  Men  who  came  too  late  bor 
rowed  the  shovel,  scooped  up  some  coals,  and  so 
started  little  fires  of  their  own  about  which  new 
groups  formed. 

While  we  ate,  the  eastern  sky  lightened.  The 
mountains  under  the  dawn  looked  like  silhouettes  cut 
from  slate-coloured  paper ;  those  in  the  west  showed 
faintly  luminous.  Objects  about  us  became  dimly 


93  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

visible.  We  could  make  out  the  windmill,  and  the 
adobe  of  the  ranch  houses,  and  the  corrals.  The 
cowboys  arose  one  by  one,  dropped  their  plates  into 
the  dishpan,  and  began  to  hunt  out  their  ropes. 
Everything  was  obscure  and  mysterious  in  the  faint 
grey  light.  I  watched  Windy  Bill  near  his  tarpaulin. 
He  stooped  to  throw  over  the  canvas.  When  he  bent, 
it  was  before  daylight;  when  he  straightened  his 
back,  daylight  had  come.  It  was  just  like  that,  as 
though  someone  had  reached  out  his  hand  to  turn 
on  the  illumination  of  the  world. 

The  eastern  mountains  were  fragile,  the  plain  was 
ethereal,  like  a  sea  of  liquid  gases.  From  the  pas 
ture  we  heard  the  shoutings  of  the  wranglers,  and 
made  out  a  cloud  of  dust.  In  a  moment  the  first  of 
the  remuda  came  into  view,  trotting  forward  with 
the  free  grace  of  the  unburdened  horse.  Others  fol 
lowed  in  procession:  those  near  sharp  and  well  de 
fined,  those  in  the  background  more  or  less  obscured 
by  the  dust,  now  appearing  plainly,  now  fading 
like  ghosts.  The  leader  turned  unhesitatingly  into 
the  corral.  After  him  poured  the  stream  of  the 
remuda — two  hundred  and  fifty  saddle  horses — with 
an  unceasing  thunder  of  hoofs. 


THEDRIVE  93 

Immediately  the  cook-camp  was  deserted.  The 
cowboys  entered  the  corral.  The  horses  began  to 
circle  around  the  edge  of  the  enclosure  as  around 
the  circumference  of  a  circus  ring.  The  men, 
grouped  at  the  centre,  watched  keenly,  looking  for 
the  mounts  they  had  already  decided  on.  In  no  time 
each  had  recognised  his  choice,  and,  his  loop  trail 
ing,  was  walking  toward  that  part  of  the  revolving 
circumference  where  his  pony  dodged.  Some  few 
whirled  the  loop,  but  most  cast  it  with  a  quick  flip. 
It  was  really  marvellous  to  observe  the  accuracy 
with  which  the  noose  would  fly,  past  a  dozen  tossing 
heads,  and  over  a  dozen  backs,  to  settle  firmly  about 
the  neck  of  an  animal  perhaps  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  group.  But  again,  if  the  first  throw  failed,  it 
was  interesting  to  see  how  the  selected  pony  would 
dodge,  double  back,  twist,  turn,  and  hide  to  escape 
a  second  cast.  And  it  was  equally  interesting  to 
observe  how  his  companions  would  help  him.  They 
seemed  to  realise  that  they  were  not  wanted,  and 
would  push  themselves  between  the  cowboy  and  his 
intended  mount  with  the  utmost  boldness.  In  the 
thick  dust  that  instantly  arose,  and  with  the  be 
wildering  thunder  of  galloping,  the  flashing  change 


94.  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

of  grouping,  the  rush  of  the  charging  animals,  rec 
ognition  alone  would  seem  almost  impossible,  yet  in 
an  incredibly  short  time  each  had  his  mount,  and  the 
others,  under  convoy  of  the  wranglers,  were  meekly 
wending  their  way  out  over  the  plain.  There,  until 
time  for  a  change  of  horses,  they  would  graze  in 
a  loose  and  scattered  band,  requiring  scarcely  any 
supervision.  Escape?  Bless  you,  no,  that  thought 
was  the  last  in  their  minds. 

In  the  meantime  the  saddles  and  bridles  were 
adjusted.  Always  in  a  cowboy's  "  string  "  of  from 
six  to  ten  animals  the  boss  assigns  him  two  or  three 
broncos  to  break  in  to  the  cow  business.  Therefore, 
each  morning  we  could  observe  a  half  dozen  or  so 
men  gingerly  leading  wicked  looking  little  animals 
out  to  the  sand  "to  take  the  pitch  out  of  them." 
One  small  black,  belonging  to  a  cowboy  called  the 
Judge,  used  more  than  to  fulfil  expectations  of  a 
good  time. 

"  Go  to  him,  Judge ! "  someone  would  always  re 
mark. 

"  If  he  ain't  goin'  to  pitch,  I  ain't  goin'  to  make 
him,"  the  Judge  would  grin,  as  he  swung  aboard. 

The  black  would  trot  off  quite  calmly  and  in  a 


THEDRIVE  95 

most  matter  of  fact  way,  as  though  to  shame  all 
slanderers  of  his  lamb-like  character.  Then,  as  the 
bystanders  would  turn  away,  he  would  utter  a  squeal, 
throw  down  his  head,  and  go  at  it.  He  was  a  very  hard 
bucker,  and  made  some  really  spectacular  jumps,  but 
the  trick  on  which  he  based  his  claims  to  originality 
consisted  in  standing  on  his  hind  legs  at  so  perilous 
an  approach  to  the  perpendicular  that  his  rider 
would  conclude  he  was  about  to  fall  backwards,  and 
then  suddenly  springing  forward  in  a  series  of  stiff- 
legged  bucks.  The  first  manoeuvre  induced  the  rider 
to  loosen  his  seat  in  order  to  be  ready  to  jump  from 
under,  and  the  second  threw  him  before  he  could 
regain  his  grip. 

"  And  they  say  a  horse  don't  think ! "  exclaimed 
an  admirer. 

But  as  these  were  broken  horses — save  the  mark! 
— the  show  was  all  over  after  each  had  had  his  little 
fling.  We  mounted  and  rode  away,  just  as  the  moun 
tain  peaks  to  the  west  caught  the  rays  of  a  sun 
we  should  not  enjoy  for  a  good  half  hour  yet. 

I  had  five  horses  in  my  string,  and  this  morning 
rode  "  that  C  S  horse,  Brown  Jug."  Brown  Jug 
was  a  powerful  and  well-built  animal,  about  fourteen 


96  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

two  in  height,  and  possessed  of  a  vast  enthusiasm 
for  cow-work.  As  the  morning  was  frosty,  he  felt 
good. 

At  the  gate  of  the  water  corral  we  separated  into 
two  groups.  The  smaller,  under  the  direction  of  Jed 
Parker,  was  to  drive  the  mesquite  in  the  wide  flats ; 
the  rest  of  us,  under  the  command  of  Homer,  the 
round-up  captain,  were  to  sweep  the  country  even 
as  far  as  the  base  of  the  foothills  near  Mount 
Graham.  Accordingly  we  put  our  horses  to  the  full 
gallop. 

Mile  after  mile  we  thundered  along  at  a  brisk 
rate  of  speed.  Sometimes  we  dodged  in  and  out 
among  the  mesquite  bushes,  alternately  separating 
and  coming  together  again;  sometimes  we  swept 
over  grassy  plains  apparently  of  illimitable  extent; 
sometimes  we  skipped  and  hopped  and  buck- jumped 
through  and  over  little  gullies,  barrancas,  and  other 
sorts  of  malpais — but  always  without  drawing  rein. 
The  men  rode  easily,  with  no  thought  to  the  way 
nor  care  for  the  footing.  The  air  came  back  sharp 
against  our  faces.  The  warm  blood  stirred  by  the 
rush  flowed  more  rapidly.  We  experienced  a  de 
lightful  glow.  Of  the  morning  cold  only  the  very 


THE     DRIVE  97 

tips  of  our  fingers  and  the  ends  of  our  noses  retained 
a  remnant.  Already  the  sun  was  shining  low  and 
level  across  the  plains.  The  shadows  of  the  canons 
modelled  the  hitherto  flat  surfaces  of  the  mountains. 

After  a  time  we  came  to  some  low  hills  helmeted 
with  the  outcrop  of  a  rock  escarpment.  Hitherto 
they  had  seemed  a  termination  of  Mount  Graham, 
but  now,  when  we  rode  around  them,  we  discovered 
them  to  be  separated  from  the  range  by  a  good  five 
miles  of  sloping  plain.  Later  we  looked  back  and 
would  have  sworn  them  part  of  the  Dos  Cabesas 
system,  did  we  not  know  them  to  be  at  least  eight 
miles'  distant  from  that  rocky  rampart.  It  is  always 
that  way  in  Arizona.  Spaces  develop  of  whose  ex 
istence  you  had  not  the  slightest  intimation.  Hidden 
in  apparently  plane  surfaces  are  valleys  and  prai 
ries.  At  one  sweep  of  the  eye  you  embrace  the  entire 
area  of  an  eastern  State ;  but  nevertheless  the  reality 
as  you  explore  it  foot  by  foot  proves  to  be  infinitely 
more  than  the  vision  has  promised. 

Beyond  the  hill  we  stopped.  Here  our  party  di 
vided  again,  half  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left. 
We  had  ridden,  up  to  this  time,  directly  away  from 
camp,  now  we  rode  a  circumference  of  which  head- 


98  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

quarters  was  the  centre.  The  country  was  pleasantly 
rolling  and  covered  with  grass.  Here  and  there  were 
clumps  of  soapweed.  Far  in  a  remote  distance  laj 
a  slender  dark  line  across  the  plain.  This  we  knew 
to  be  mesquite;  and  once  entered,  we  knew  it,  too, 
would  seem  to  spread  out  vastly.  And  then  this 
grassy  slope,  on  which  we  now  rode,  would  show 
merely  as  an  insignificant  streak  of  yellow.  It  is 
also  like  that  in  Arizona.  I  have  ridden  in  succes 
sion  through  grass  land,  brush  land,  flower  land, 
desert.  Each  in  turn  seemed  entirely  to  fill  the  space 
of  the  plains  between  the  mountains. 

From  time  to  time  Homer  halted  us  and  detached 
a  man.  The  business  of  the  latter  was  then  to  ride 
directly  back  to  camp,  driving  all  cattle  before  him. 
Each  was  in  sight  of  his  right-  and  left-hand  neigh 
bour.  Thus  was  constructed  a  drag-net  whose  meshes 
contracted  as  home  was  neared. 

I  was  detached,  when  of  our  party  only  the  Cat 
tleman  and  Homer  remained.  They  would  take  the 
outside.  This  was  the  post  of  honour,  and  required 
the  hardest  riding,  for  as  soon  as  the  cattle  should 
realise  the  fact  of  their  pursuit,  they  would  attempt 
to  "  break  "  past  the  end  and  up  the  valley.  Brown 


T  H  E     D  R I V  E  99 

Jug  and  I  congratulated  ourselves  on  an  exciting 
morning  in  prospect. 

Now,  wild  cattle  know  perfectly  well  what  a  drive 
means,  and  they  do  not  intend  to  get  into  a  round-up 
if  they  can  help  it.  Were  it  not  for  the  two  facts, 
that  they  are  afraid  of  a  mounted  man,  and  cannot 
run  quite  so  fast  as  a  horse,  I  do  not  know  how  the 
cattle  business  would  be  conducted.  As  soon  as  a 
band  of  them  caught  sight  of  any  one  of  us,  they 
curled  their  tails  and  away  they  went  at  a  long,  easy 
lope  that  a  domestic  cow  would  stare  at  in  wonder. 
This  was  all  very  well ;  in  fact  we  yelled  and  shrieked 
and  otherwise  uttered  cow-calls  to  keep  them  going, 
to  "  get  the  cattle  started,"  as  they  say.  But  pretty 
soon  a  little  band  of  the  many  scurrying  away  before 
our  thin  line,  began  to  bear  farther  and  farther  to 
the  east.  When  in  their  judgment  they  should  have 
gained  an  opening,  they  would  turn  directly  back 
and  make  a  dash  for  liberty.  Accordingly  the  near 
est  cowboy  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse  and  pursued 
them. 

It  was  a  pretty  race.  The  cattle  ran  easily  enough, 
with  long,  springy  jumps  that  carried  them  over 
the  ground  faster  than  appearances  would  lead  one 


100  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

to  believe.  The  cow-pony,  his  nose  stretched  out, 
his  ears  slanted,  his  eyes  snapping  with  joy  of  the 
chase,  flew  fairly  "  belly  to  earth."  The  rider  sat 
slightly  forward,  with  the  cowboy's  loose  seat.  A 
whirl  of  dust,  strangely  insignificant  against  the 
immensity  of  a  desert  morning,  rose  from  the  flying 
group.  Now  they  disappeared  in  a  ravine,  only  to 
scramble  out  again  the  next  instant,  pace  undimin- 
ished.  The  rider  merely  rose  slightly  and  threw  up 
his  elbows  to  relieve  the  jar  of  the  rough  gully. 
At  first  the  cattle  seemed  to  hold  their  own,  but  soon 
the  horse  began  to  gain.  In  a  short  time  he  had 
come  abreast  of  the  leading  animal.  The  latter 
stopped  short  with  a  snort,  dodged  back,  and  set 
out  at  right  angles  to  his  former  course.  From  a 
dead  run  the  pony  came  to  a  stand  in  two  fierce 
plunges,  doubled  tike  a  shot,  and  was  off  on  the  other 
tack.  An  unaccustomed  rider  would  here  have  lost 
his  seat.  The  second  dash  was  short.  With  a  final 
shake  of  the  head,  the  steers  turned  to  the  proper 
course  in  the  direction  of  the  ranch.  The  pony 
dropped  unconcernedly  to  the  shuffling  jog  of  ha 
bitual  progression. 

Far  away  stretched  the  arc  of  our  cordon.  The 


THE     DRIVE  101 

most  distant  rider  was  a  speck,  and  the  cattle  ahead 
of  him  were  like  maggots  endowed  with  a  smooth, 
swift  onward  motion.  As  yet  the  herd  had  not  taken 
form;  it  was  still  too  widely  scattered.  Its  units,  in 
the  shape  of  small  bunches,  momently  grew  in  num 
bers.  The  distant  plains  were  crawling  and  alive 
with  minute  creatures  making  toward  a  common  tiny 
centre. 

Immediately  in  our  front  the  cattle  at  first  behaved 
very  well.  Then  far  down  the  long  gentle  slope  I 
saw  a  break  for  the  upper  valley.  The  manikin 
that  represented  Homer  at  once  became  even  smaller 
as  it  departed  in  pursuit.  The  Cattleman  moved 
down  to  cover  Homer's  territory  until  he  should  re 
turn,  and  I  in  turn  edged  farther  to  the  right. 
Then  another  break  from  another  bunch.  The  Cat 
tleman  rode  at  top  speed  to  head  it.  Before  long  he 
disappeared  in  the  distant  mesquite.  I  found  myself 
in  sole  charge  of  a  front  three  miles  long. 

The  nearest  cattle  were  some  distance  ahead,  and 
trotting  along  at  a  good  gait.  As  they  had  not  yet 
discovered  the  chance  left  open  by  unforeseen  cir 
cumstance,  I  descended  and  took  in  on  my  cinch 
while  yet  there  was  time.  Even  as  I  mounted,  an  im- 


102  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

patient  movement  on  the  part  of  experienced  Brown 
Jug  told  me  that  the  cattle  had  seen  their  oppor 
tunity. 

I  gathered  the  reins  and  spoke  to  the  horse.  He 
needed  no  further  direction,  but  set  off  at  a  wide 
angle,  nicely  calculated,  to  intercept  the  truants. 
Brown  Jug  was  a  powerful  beast.  The  spring  of 
his  leap  was  as  whalebone.  The  yellow  earth  began 
to  stream  past  like  water.  Always  the  pace  increased 
with  a  growing  thunder  of  hoofs.  It  seemed  that 
nothing  could  turn  us  from  the  straight  line,  noth 
ing  check  the  headlong  momentum  of  our  rush.  My 
eyes  filled  with  tears  from  the  wind  of  our  going. 
Saddle  strings  streamed  behind.  Brown  Jug's  mane 
whipped  my  bridle  hand.  Dimly  I  was  conscious  of 
soapweed,  sacatone,  mesquite,  as  we  passed  them. 
They  were  abreast  and  gone  before  I  could  think 
of  them  or  how  they  were  to  be  dodged.  Two  ante 
lope  bounded  away  to  the  left;  birds  rose  hastily 
from  the  grasses.  A  sudden  chirk,  chirk,  chirk,  rose 
all  about  me.  We  were  in  the  very  centre  of  a  prairie- 
dog  town,  but  before  I  could  formulate  in  my  mind 
the  probabilities  of  holes  and  broken  legs,  the  chirk, 
chirk,  chirking  had  fallen  astern.  Brown  Jug  had 
skipped  and  dodged  successfully. 


THE     DRIVE  103 

We  were  approaching  the  cattle.  They  ran  stub 
bornly  and  well,  evidently  unwilling  to  be  turned 
until  the  latest  possible  moment.  A  great  rage  at 
their  obstinacy  took  possession  of  us  both.  A  broad 
shallow  wash  crossed  our  way,  but  we  plunged 
through  its  rocks  and  boulders  recklessly,  angered 
at  even  the  slight  delay  they  necessitated.  The  hard 
land  on  the  other  side  we  greeted  with  joy.  Brown 
Jug  extended  himself  with  a  snort. 

Suddenly  a  jar  seemed  to  shake  my  very  head  loose. 
I  found  myself  staring  over  the  horse's  head  directly 
down  into  a  deep  and  precipitous  gully,  the  edge  of 
which  was  so  cunningly  concealed  by  the  grasses 
as  to  have  remained  invisible  to  my  blurred  vision. 
Brown  Jug,  however,  had  caught  sight  of  it  at  the 
last  instant,  and  had  executed  one  of  the  wonderful 
stops  possible  only  to  a  cow-pony. 

But  already  the  cattle  had  discovered  a  passage 
above,  and  were  scrambling  down  and  across.  Brown 
Jug  and  I,  at  more  sober  pace,  slid  off  the  almost 
perpendicular  bank,  and  out  the  other  side. 

A  moment  later  we  had  headed  them.  They  whirled, 
and  without  the  necessity  of  any  suggestion  on  my 
part  Brown  Jug  turned  after  them,  and  so  quickly 
that  my  stirrup  actually  brushed  the  ground.  After 


I 


104  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

that  we  were  masters.  We  chased  the  cattle  far 
enough  to  start  them  well  in  the  proper  direction, 
and  then  pulled  down  to  a  walk  in  order  to  get  a 
breath  of  air. 

But  now  we  noticed  another  band,  back  on  the 
ground  over  which  we  had  just  come,  doubling 
through  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Graham.  A  hard 
run  set  them  to  rights.  We  turned.  More  had  poured 
out  from  the  hills.  Bands  were  crossing  everywhere, 
ahead  and  behind.  Brown  Jug  and  I  set  to  work. 

Being  an  indivisible  unit,  we  could  chase  only  one 
bunch  at  a  time;  and,  while  we  were  after  one,  a 
half  dozen  others  would  be  taking  advantage  of  our 
preoccupation.  We  could  not  hold  our  own.  Each 
run  after  an  escaping  bunch  had  to  be  on  a  longer 
diagonal.  Gradually  we  were  forced  back,  and  back, 
and  back;  but  still  we  managed  to  hold  the  line 
unbroken.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  dash  and  clatter 
of  that  morning.  Neither  Brown  Jug  nor  I  thought 
for  a  moment  of  sparing  horseflesh,  nor  of  picking 
a  route.  We  made  the  shortest  line,  and  paid  little 
attention  to  anything  that  stood  in  the  way.  A  very 
fever  of  resistance  possessed  us.  It  was  like  beat 
ing  against  a  head  wind,  or  fighting  fire,  or  com- 


THE     DRIVE  105 

bating  in  any  other  way  any  of  the  great  forces 
of  nature.  We  were  quite  alone.  The  Cattleman  and 
Homer  had  vanished.  To  our  left  the  men  were  fully 
occupied  in  marshalling  the  compact  brown  herds 
that  had  gradually  massed — for  these  antagonists 
of  mine  were  merely  the  outlying  remnants. 

I  suppose  Brown  Jug  must  have  run  nearly  twenty 
miles  with  only  one  check.  Then  we  chased  a  cow 
some  distance  and  into  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream, 
where  she  whirled  on  us  savagely.  By  luck  her  horn 
hit  only  the  leather  of  my  saddle  skirts,  so  we  left 
her ;  for  when  a  cow  has  sense  enough  to  "  get  on 
the  peck,"  there  is  no  driving  her  farther.  We 
gained  nothing,  and  had  to  give  ground,  but  we 
succeeded  in  holding  a  semblance  of  order,  so  that 
the  cattle  did  not  break  and  scatter  far  and  wide. 
The  sun  had  by  now  well  risen,  and  was  beginning 
to  shine  hot.  Brown  Jug  still  ran  gamely  and  dis 
played  as  much  interest  as  ever,  but  he  was  evidently 
tiring.  We  were  both  glad  to  see  Homer's  grey  show 
ing  in  the  fringe  of  mesquite. 

Together  we  soon  succeeded  in  throwing  the  cows 
into  the  main  herd.  And,  strangely  enough,  as  soon 
as  they  had  joined  a  compact  band  of  their  fellows, 


106  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

their  wildness  left  them  and,  convoyed  by  outsiders, 
they  set  themselves  to  plodding  energetically  toward 
the  home  ranch. 

As  my  horse  was  somewhat  winded,  I  joined  the 
"  drag "  at  the  rear.  Here  by  course  of  natural 
sifting  soon  accumulated  all  the  lazy,  gentle,  and 
sickly  cows,  and  the  small  calves.  The  difficulty  now 
was  to  prevent  them  from  lagging  and  dropping  out. 
To  that  end  we  indulged  in  a  great  variety  of  the 
picturesque  cow-calls  peculiar  to  the  cowboy.  One 
found  an  old  tin  can  which  by  the  aid  of  a  few  peb 
bles  he  converted  into  a  very  effective  rattle. 

The  dust  rose  in  clouds  and  eddied  in  the  sun. 
We  slouched  easily  in  our  saddles.  The  cowboys  com 
pared  notes  as  to  the  brands  they  had  seen.  Our 
ponies  shuffled  along,  resting,  but  always  ready  for 
a  dash  in  chase  of  an  occasional  bull  calf  or  yearling 
with  independent  ideas  of  its  own. 

Thus  we  passed  over  the  country,  down  the  long 
gentle  slope  to  the  "  sink "  of  the  valley,  whence 
another  long  gentle  slope  ran  to  the  base  of  the 
other  ranges.  At  greater  or  lesser  distances  we 
caught  the  dust,  and  made  out  dimly  the  masses  of 
the  other  herds  collected  by  our  companions,  and  by. 


THE     DRIVE  107 

the,  party  under  Jed  Parker.  They  went  forward 
toward  the  common  centre,  with  a  slow  ruminative 
movement,  and  the  dust  they  raised  went  with  them. 

Little  by  little  they  grew  plainer  to  us,  and  the 
home  ranch,  hitherto  merely  a  brown  shimmer  in  the 
distance,  began  to  take  on  definition  as  the  group  of 
buildings,  windmills,  and  corrals  we  knew.  Miniature 
horsemen  could  be  seen  galloping  forward  to  the 
open  white  plain  where  the  herd  would  be  held.  Then 
the  mesquite  enveloped  us;  and  we  knew  little  more, 
save  the  anxiety  lest  we  overlook  laggards  in  the 
brush,  until  we  came  out  on  the  edge  of  that  same 
white  plain. 

Here  were  more  cattle,  thousands  of  them,  and 
billows  of  dust,  and  a  great  bellowing,  and  dim, 
mounted  figures  riding  and  shouting  ahead  of  the 
herd.  Soon  they  succeeded  in  turning  the  leaders 
back.  These  threw  into  confusion  those  that  fol 
lowed.  In  a  few  moments  the  cattle  had  stopped.  A 
cordon  of  horsemen  sat  at  equal  distances  holding 
them  in. 

"Pretty  good  haul,"  said  the  man  next  to  me; 
"  a  good  five  thousand  head." 


CHAPTER     SIX 

CUTTING   OUT 

IT  was  somewhere  near  noon  by  the  time  we  had 
bunched  and  held  the  herd  of  some  four  or  five  thou 
sand  head  in  the  smooth,  wide  flat,  free  from  bushes 
and  dog  holes.  Each  sat  at  ease  on  his  horse  facing 
the  cattle,  watching  lazily  the  clouds  of  dust  and 
the  shifting  beasts,  but  ready  at  any  instant  to  turn 
back  the  restless  or  independent  individuals  that 
might  break  for  liberty. 

Out  of  the  haze  came  Homer,  the  round-up  cap 
tain,  on  an  easy  lope.  As  he  passed  successively  the 
sentries  he  delivered  to  each  a  low  command,  but 
without  slacking  pace.  Some  of  those  spoken  to 
wheeled  their  horses  and  rode  away.  The  others  set 
tled  themselves  in  their  saddles  and  began  to  roll 
cigarettes. 

"  Change  horses ;  get  something  to  eat,"  said  he 
to  me;  so  I  swung  after  the  file  trailing  at  a  canter 
over  the  low  swells  beyond  the  plain. 

108 


CUTTING    OUT  109 

The  remuda  had  been  driven  by  its  leaders  to  a 
corner  of  the  pasture's  wire  fence,  and  there  held. 
As  each  man  arrived  he  dismounted,  threw  off  his 
saddle,  and  turned  his  animal  loose.  Then  he  flipped 
a  loop  in  his  rope  and  disappeared  in  the  eddying 
herd.  The  discarded  horse,  with  many  grunts,  in 
dulged  in  a  satisfying  roll,  shook  himself  vigor 
ously,  and  walked  slowly  away.  His  labour  was  over 
for  the  day,  and  he  knew  it,  and  took  not  the  slight 
est  trouble  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  men  with  the 
swinging  ropes. 

Not  so  the  fresh  horses,  however.  They  had  no 
intention  of  being  caught,  if  they  could  help  it,  but 
dodged  and  twisted,  hid  and  doubled  behind  the  mov 
ing  screen  of  their  friends.  The  latter,  seeming  as 
usual  to  know  they  were  not  wanted,  made  no  effort 
to  avoid  the  men,  which  probably  accounted  in  great 
measure  for  the  fact  that  the  herd  as  a  body  remained 
compact,  in  spite  of  the  cowboys  threading  it,  and  in 
spite  of  the  lack  of  an  enclosure. 

Our  horses  caught,  we  saddled  as  hastily  as  pos 
sible;  and  then  at  the  top  speed  of  our  fresh  and 
eager  ponies  we  swept  down  on  the  chuck  wagon. 
There  we  fell  off  our  saddles  and  descended  on  the 


110  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

meat  and  bread  like  ravenous  locusts  on  a  cornfield. 
The  ponies  stood  where  we  left  them,  "  tied  to  the 
ground  "  in  the  cattle-country  fashion. 

As  soon  as  a  man  had  stoked  up  for  the  afternoon  . 
he  rode  away.  Some  finished  before  others,  so  across 
the  plain  formed  an  endless  procession  of  men  re 
turning  to  the  herd,  and  of  those  whom  they  replaced 
coming  for  their  turn  at  the  grub. 

We  found  the  herd  quiet.  Some  were  even  lying 
down,  chewing  their  cuds  as  peacefully  as  any  barn 
yard  cows.  Most,  however,  stood  ruminative,  or 
walked  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  confines  allotted  by 
the  horsemen,  so  that  the  herd  looked  from  a  dis 
tance  like  a  brown  carpet  whose  pattern  was  con 
stantly  changing — a  dusty  brown  carpet  in  the 
process  of  being  beaten.  I  relieved  one  of  the  watch* 
ers,  and  settled  myself  for  a  wait. 

At  this  close  inspection  the  different  sorts  of  cat 
tle  showed  more  distinctly  their  characteristics.  The 
cows  and  calves  generally  rested  peacefully  enough, 
the  calf  often  lying  down  while  the  mother  stood 
guard  over  it.  Steers,  however,  were  more  restless. 
They  walked  ceaselessly,  threading  their  way  in  and 
cr\t  among  the  standing  cattle,  pausing  in  brutish 


CUTTING     OUT  111 

amazement  at  the  edge  of  the  herd,  and  turning  back 
immediately  to  endless  journeyings.  The  bulls,  ex 
cited  by  so  much  company  forced  on  their  accus 
tomed  solitary  habit,  roared  defiance  at  each  other 
until  the  air  fairly  trembled.  Occasionally  two 
would  clash  foreheads.  Then  the  powerful  animals 
would  push  and  wrestle,  trying  for  a  chance  to  gore. 
The  decision  of  supremacy  was  a  question  of  but  a 
few  minutes,  and  a  bloody  topknot  the  worst  dam 
age.  The  defeated  one  side-stepped  hastily  and 
clumsily  out  of  reach,  and  then  walked  away. 

Most  of  the  time  all  we  had  to  do  was  to  sit 
our  horses  and  watch  these  things,  to  enjoy  the  warm 
bath  of  the  Arizona  sun,  and  to  converse  with  our 
next  neighbours.  Once  in  a  while  some  enterprising 
cow,  observing  the  opening  between  the  men,  would 
start  to  walk  out.  Others  would  fall  in  behind  her 
until  the  movement  would  become  general.  Then  one 
of  us  would  swing  his  leg  off  the  pommel  and  jog  his 
pony  over  to  head  them  off.  They  would  return 
peaeefully  enough. 

But  one  black  muley  cow,  with  a  calf  as  black  and 
muley  as  herself,  was  more  persistent.  Time  after 
time,  with  infinite  patience,  she  tried  it  again  the 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

moment  my  back  was  turned.  I  tried  driving  her 
far  into  the  herd.  No  use;  she  always  returned. 
Quirtings  and  stones  had  no  effect  on  her  mild  and 
steady  persistence. 

"  She's  a  San  Simon  cow,"  drawled  my  neighbour. 
"Everybody  knows  her.  She's  at  every  round-up, 
just  naturally  raisin'  hell." 

When  the  last  man  had  returned  from  chuck, 
Homer  made  the  dispositions  for  the  cut.  There  were 
present  probably  thirty  men  from  the  home  ranches 
round  about,  and  twenty  representing  owners  at  a 
distance,  here  to  pick  up  the  strays  inevitable  to  the 
season's  drift.  The  round-up  captain  appointed  two 
men  to  hold  the  cow-and-calf  cut,  and  two  more  to 
hold  the  steer  cut.  Several  of  us  rode  into  the 
herd,  while  the  remainder  retained  their  positions 
as  sentinels  to  hold  the  main  body  of  cattle  in 
shape. 

Little  G  and  I  rode  slowly  among  the  cattle  look 
ing  everywhere.  The  animals  moved  sluggishly  aside 
to  give  us  passage,  and  closed  in  as  sluggishly  be 
hind  us,  so  that  we  were  always  closely  hemmed  in 
wherever  we  went.  Over  the  shifting  sleek  backs, 
through  the  eddying  clouds  of  dust,  I  could  make 


CUTTING     OUT  113 

out  the  figures  of  my  companions  moving  slowly, 
apparently  aimlessly,  here  and  there. 

Our  task  for  the  moment  was  to  search  out  the 
unbranded  J  H  calves.  Since  in  ranks  so  closely 
crowded  it  would  be  physically  impossible  actually  to 
see  an  animal's  branded  flank,  we  depended  entirely 
on  the  ear-marks. 

Did  you  ever  notice  how  any  animal,  tame  or  wild, 
always  points  his  ears  inquiringly  in  the  direction 
of  whatever  interests  or  alarms  him?  Those  ears  are 
for  the  moment  his  most  prominent  feature.  So  when 
a  brand  is  quite  indistinguishable  because,  as  now, 
of  press  of  numbers,  or,  as  in  winter,  from  extreme 
length  of  hair,  the  cropped  ears  tell  plainly  the 
tale  of  ownership.  As  every  animal  is  so  marked 
when  branded,  it  follows  that  an  uncut  pair  of  ears 
means  that  its  owner  has  never  felt  the  iron. 

So,  now  we  had  to  look  first  of  all  for  calves  with 
uncut  ears.  After  discovering  one,  we  had  to  ascer 
tain  his  ownership  by  examining  the  ear-marks  of 
his  mother,  by  whose  side  he  was  sure,  in  this  alarm 
ing  multitude,  to  be  clinging  faithfully. 

Calves  were  numerous,  and  J  H  cows  everywhere  to 
be  seen,  so  in  somewhat  less  than  ten  seconds  I  had 


114  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

my  eye  on  a  mother  and  son.  Immediately  I  turned 
Little  G  in  their  direction.  At  the  slap  of  my  quirt 
against  the  stirrup,  all  the  cows  immediately  about 
me  shrank  suspiciously  aside.  Little  G  stepped  for 
ward  daintily,  his  nostrils  expanding,  his  ears  work 
ing  back  and  forth,  trying  to  the  best  of  his  ability 
to  understand  which  animals  I  had  selected.  The 
cow  and  her  calf  turned  in  toward  the  centre  of  the 
herd.  A  touch  of  the  reins  guided  the  pony.  At  once 
he  comprehended.  From  that  time  on  he  needed  no 
further  directions.  Cautiously,  patiently,  with  great 
skill,  he  forced  the  cow  through  the  press  toward 
the  edge  of  the  herd.  It  had  to  be  done  very  quietly, 
at  a  foot  pace,  so  as  to  alarm  neither  the  objects  of 
pursuit  nor  those  surrounding  them.  When  the  cow 
turned  back,  Little  G  somehow  happened  always  in 
her  way.  Before  she  knew  it  she  was  at  the  outer 
edge  of  the  herd.  There  she  found  herself,  with  a 
group  of  three  or  four  companions,  facing  the  open 
plain.  Instinctively  she  sought  shelter.  I  felt  Little 
G's  muscles  tighten  beneath  me.  The  moment  for  ac 
tion  had  come.  Before  the  cow  had  a  chance  to  dodge 
among  her  companions  the  pony  was  upon  her  like 
a  thunderbolt.  She  broke  in  alarm,  trying  desper- 


CUTTING    OUT  115 

ately  to  avoid  the  rush.  There  ensued  an  exciting 
contest  of  dodgings,  turnings,  and  doublings.  Wher 
ever  she  turned  Little  G  was  before  her.  Some  of  his 
evolutions  were  marvellous.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to 
sit  my  saddle,  and  apply  just  that  final  touch  of 
judgment  denied  even  the  wisest  of  the  lower  ani 
mals.  Time  and  again  the  turn  was  so  quick  that  the 
stirrup  swept  the  ground.  At  last  the  cow,  convinced 
of  the  uselessness  of  further  effort  to  return,  broke 
away  on  a  long  lumbering  run  to  the  open  plain. 
She  was  stopped  and  held  by  the  men  detailed,  and 
so  formed  the  nucleus  of  the  new  cut-herd.  Imme 
diately  Little  G,  his  ears  working  in  conscious  virtue, 
jog-trotted  back  into  the  herd,  ready  for  another. 

After  a  dozen  cows  had  been  sent  across  to  the 
cut-herd,  the  work  simplified.  Once  a  cow  caught 
sight  of  this  new  band,  she  generally  made  directly 
for  it,  head  and  tail  up.  After  the  first  short  struggle 
to  force  her  from  the  herd,  all  I  had  to  do  was  to 
start  her  in  the  proper  direction  and  keep  her  at  it 
until  her  decision  was  fixed.  If  she  was  too  soon  left 
to  her  own  devices,  however,  she  was  likely  to  return. 
An  old  cowman  knows  to  a  second  just  the  proper 
moment  to  abandon  her. 


116  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Sometimes  in  spite  of  our  best  efforts  a  cow  suc 
ceeded  in  circling  us  and  plunging  into  the  main 
herd.  The  temptation  was  then  strong  to  plunge  in 
also,  and  to  drive  her  out  by  main  force;  but  the 
temptation  had  to  be  resisted.  A  dash  into  the  thick 
of  it  might  break  the  whole  band.  At  once,  of  his 
own  accord,  Little  G  dropped  to  his  fast,  shuffling 
walk,  and  again  we  addressed  ourselves  to  the  task 
of  pushing  her  gently  to  the  edge. 

This  was  all  comparatively  simple — almost  any 
pony  is  fast  enough  for  the  calf  cut — but  now 
Homer  gave  orders  for  the  steer  cut  to  begin,  and 
steers  are  rapid  and  resourceful  and  full  of  natural 
cussedness.  Little  G  and  I  were  relieved  by  Windy 
Bill,  and  betook  ourselves  to  the  outside  of  the  herd. 

Here  we  had  leisure  to  observe  the  effects  that  up 
to  this  moment  we  had  ourselves  been  producing.  The 
herd,  restless  by  reason  of  the  horsemen  threading  it, 
shifted,  gave  ground,  expanded,  and  contracted,  so 
that  its  shape  and  size  were  always  changing  in  the 
constant  area  guarded  by  the  sentinel  cowboys.  Dust 
arose  from  these  movements,  clouds  of  it,  to  eddy 
and  swirl,  thicken  and  dissipate  in  the  currents  of 
air.  Now  it  concealed  all  but  the  nearest  dimly-out- 


CUTTING    OUT  117 

lined  animals ;  again  it  parted  in  rifts  through  which 
mistily  we  discerned  the  riders  moving  in  and  out  of 
the  fog;  again  it  lifted  high  and  thin,  so  that  we 
saw  in  clarity  the  whole  herd  and  the  outriders  and 
the  mesas  far  away.  As  the  afternoon  waned,  long 
shafts  of  sun  slanted  through  this  dust.  It  played 
on  men  and  beasts  magically,  expanding  them  to  the 
dimensions  of  strange  genii,  appearing  and  effacing 
themselves  in  the  billows  of  vapour  from  some  en 
chanted  bottle. 

We  on  the  outside  found  our  sinecure  of  hot  noon 
tide  filched  from  us  by  the  cooler  hours.  The  cattle, 
wearied  of  standing,  and  perhaps  somewhat  hungry 
and  thirsty,  grew  more  and  more  impatient.  We  rode 
continually  back  and  forth,  turning  the  slow  move 
ment  in  on  itself.  Occasionally  some  particularly  en 
terprising  cow  would  conclude  that  one  or  another 
of  the  cut-herds  would  suit  her  better  than  this  mill 
of  turmoil.  She  would  start  confidently  out,  head  and 
tail  up,  find  herself  chased  back,  get  stubborn  on  the 
question,  and  lead  her  pursuer  a  long,  hard  run  be 
fore  she  would  return  to  her  companions.  Once  in  a 
while  one  would  even  have  to  be  roped  and  dragged 
back.  For  know,  before  something  happens  to  you, 


118  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

that  you  can  chase  a  cow  safely  only  until  she  gets 
hot  and  winded.  Then  she  stands  her  ground  and 
gets  emphatically  "  on  the  peck." 

I  remember  very  well  when  I  first  discovered  this. 
It  was  after  I  had  had  considerable  cow  work,  too.  I 
thought  of  cows  as  I  had  always  seen  them — afraid 
of  a  horseman,  easy  to  turn  with  the  pony,  and  will 
ing  to  be  chased  as  far  as  necessary  to  the  work. 
Nobody  told  me  anything  different.  One  day  we 
were  making  a  drive  in  an  exceedingly  broken  coun 
try.  I  was  bringing  in  a  small  bunch  I  had  discovered 
in  a  pocket  of  the  hills,  but  was  excessively  annoyed 
by  one  old  cow  that  insisted  on  breaking  back.  In 
the  wisdom  of  further  experience,  I  now  conclude 
that  she  probably  had  a  calf  in  the  brush.  Finally 
she  got  away  entirely.  After  starting  the  bunch  well 

ahead,  I  went  after  her. 

A 

Well,  the  cow  and  I  ran  nearly  side  by  side  for  as 
much  as  half  a  mile  at  top  speed.  She  declined  to  be 
headed.  Finally  she  fell  down  and  was  so  entirety 
winded  that  she  could  not  get  up. 

"  Now,  old  girl,  I've  got  you ! "  said  I,  and  set 
myself  to  urging  her  to  her  feet. 

The  pony   acted  somewhat   astonished,   and   sus- 


CUTTING    OUT  119 

plcious  of  the  job.  Therein  he  knew  a  lot  more  than 
I  did.  But  I  insisted,  and,  like  a  good  pony,  he  obeyed. 
I  yelled  at  the  cow,  and  slapped  my  hat,  and  used 
my  quirt.  When  she  had  quite  recovered  her  wind, 
she  got  slowly  to  her  feet — and  charged  me  in  a 
most  determined  manner. 

Now,  a  bull,  or  a  steer,  is  not  difficult  to  dodge.  He 
lowers  his  head,  shuts  his  eyes,  and  comes  in  on  one 
straight  rush.  But  a  cow  looks  to  see  what  she  is 
doing;  her  eyes  are  open  every  minute,  and  it  over 
joys  her  to  take  a  side  hook  at  you  even  when  you 
succeed  in  eluding  her  direct  charge. 

The  pony  I  was  riding  did  his  best,  but  even  then 
could  not  avoid  a  sharp  prod  that  would  have  ripped 
him  up  had  not  my  leather  bastos  intervened.  Then 
we  retired  to  a  distance  in  order  to  plan  further ;  but 
we  did  not  succeed  in  inducing  that  cow  to  revise  her 
ideas,  so  at  last  we  left  her.  When,  in  some  chagrin, 
I  mentioned  to  the  round-up  captain  the  fact  that  I 
had  skipped  one  animal,  he  merely  laughed. 

"  Why,  kid,"  said  he,  "  you  can't  do  nothin'  with 
a  cow  that  gets  on  the  prod  that  away  'thout  you 
ropes  her ;  and  what  could  you  do  with  her  out  there 
if  you  did  rope  her  ?  " 


120  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

So  I  learned  one  thing  more  about  cows. 

After  the  steer  cut  had  been  finished,  the  men  rep« 
resenting  the  neighbouring  ranges  looked  through 
the  herd  for  strays  of  their  brands.  These  were 
thrown  into  the  stray-herd,  which  had  been  brought 
up  from  the  bottom  lands  to  receive  the  new  acces 
sions.  Work  was  pushed  rapidly,  as  the  afternoon 
was  nearly  gone. 

In  fact,  so  absorbed  were  we  that  until  it  was 
almost  upon  us  we  did  not  notice  a  heavy  thunder- 
shower  that  arose  in  the  region  of  the  Dragoon 
Mountains,  and  swept  rapidly  across  the  zenith. 
Before  we  knew  it  the  rain  had  begun.  In  ten  seconds 
it  had  increased  to  a  deluge,  and  in  twenty  we  were 
all  to  leeward  of  the  herd  striving  desperately  to 
stop  the  drift  of  the  cattle  down  wind. 

We  did  everything  in  our  power  to  stop  them, 
but  in  vain.  Slickers  waved,  quirts  slapped  against 
leather,  six-shooters  flashed,  but  still  the  cattle,  heads 
lowered,  advanced  with  a  slow  and  sullen  persistence 
that  would  not  be  stemmed.  If  we  held  our  ground, 
they  divided  around  us.  Step  by  step  we  were  forced 
to  give  way — the  thin  line  of  nervously  plunging 
horses  sprayed  before  the  dense  mass  of  the  cattle. 


CUTTING    OUT 

"No5  they  won't  stampede,"  shouted  Charley  to 
my  question.  "  There's  cows  and  calves  in  them.  If 
they  was  just  steers  or  grown  critters,  they  might." 

The  sensations  of  those  few  moments  were  very 
vivid — the  blinding  beat  of  the  storm  in  my  face, 
the  unbroken  front  of  horned  heads  bearing  down 
on  me,  resistless  as  fate,  the  long  slant  of  rain  with 
the  sun  shining  in  the  distance  beyond  it. 

Abruptly  the  downpour  ceased.  We  shook  our 
hats  free  of  water,  and  drove  the  herd  back  to  the 
cutting  grounds  again. 

But  now  the  surface  of  the  ground  was  slippery, 
and  the  rapid  manoeuvring  of  horses  had  become  a 
matter  precarious  in  the  extreme.  Time  and  again  the 
ponies  fairly  sat  on  their  haunches  and  slid  when 
negotiating  a  sudden  stop,  while  quick  turns  meant 
the  rapid  scramblings  that  only  a  cow-horse  could 
accomplish.  Nevertheless  the  work  went  forward  un 
checked.  The  men  of  the  other  outfits  cut  their  cattle 
into  the  stray-herd.  The  latter  was  by  now  of  con 
siderable  size,  for  this  was  the  third  week  of  the 
round-up: 

Finally  everyone  expressed  himself  as  satisfied. 
The  largely  diminished  main  herd  was  now  started 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

forward  by  means  of  shrill  cowboy  cries  and  beating 
of  quirts.  The  cattle  were  only  too  eager  to  go. 
From  my  position  on  a  little  rise  above  the  stray- 
herd  I  could  see  the  leaders  breaking  into  a  run, 
their  heads  thrown  forward  as  they  snuffed  their 
freedom.  On  the  mesa  side  the  sentinel  riders  quietly 
withdrew.  From  the  rear  and  flanks  the  horsemen 
closed  in.  The  cattle  poured  out  in  a  steady  stream 
through  the  opening  thus  left  on  the  mesa  side.  The 
fringe  of  cowboys  followed,  urging  them  on.  Ab 
ruptly  the  cavalcade  turned  and  came  loping  back. 
The  cattle  continued  ahead  on  a  trot,  gradually 
spreading  abroad  over  the  landscape,  losing  their 
integrity  as  a  herd.  Some  of  the  slower  or  hungrier 
dropped  out  and  began  to  graze.  Certain  of  the 
more  wary  disappeared  to  right  or  left. 

Now,  after  the  day's  work  was  practically  over, 
we  had  our  first  accident.  The  horse  ridden  by  a 
young  fellow  from  Dos  Cabesas  slipped,  fell,  and 
rolled  quite  over  his  rider.  At  once  the  animal 
lunged  to  his  feet,  only  to  be  immediately  seized  by 
the  nearest  rider.  But  the  Dos  Cabesas  man  lay  still, 
his  arms  and  legs  spread  abroad,  his  head  doubled 
sideways  in  a  horribly  suggestive  manner.  We 


CUTTING     OUT 

hopped  off.  Two  men  straightened  him  out,  while 
two  more  looked  carefully  over  the  indications  on  the 
ground. 

"  All  right,"  sang  out  one  of  these,  "  the  horn 
didn't  catch  him." 

He  pointed  to  the  indentation  left  by  the  pommel. 
Indeed  five  minutes  brought  the  man  to  his  senses. 
He  complained  of  a  very  twisted  back.  Homer  sent 
one  of  the  men  in  after  the  bed-wagon,  by  means  of 
which  the  sufferer  was  shortly  transported  to  camp. 
By  the  end  of  the  week  he  was  again  in  the  saddle. 
How  men  escape  from  this  common  accident  with 
injuries  so  slight  has  always  puzzled  me.  The  horse 
rolls  completely  over  his  rider,  and  yet  it  seems  to 
be  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world  for  the  latter  to  be 
either  killed  or  permanently  injured. 

Now  each  man  had  the  privilege  of  looking 
through  the  J  H  cuts  to  see  if  by  chance  strays  of 
his  own  had  been  included  in  them.  When  all  had 
expressed  themselves  as  satisfied,  the  various  bands 
were  started  to  the  corrals. 

From  a  slight  eminence  where  I  had  paused  to 
enjoy  the  evening  I  looked  down  on  the  scene.  The 
three  herds,  separated  by  generous  distances  one  from 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  other,  crawled  leisurely  along;  the  riders,  their 
hats  thrust  back,  lolled  in  their  saddles,  shouting 
conversation  to  each  other,  relaxing  after  the  day's 
work ;  through  the  clouds  strong  shafts  of  light  be 
littled  the  living  creatures,  threw  into  proportion  the 
vastness  of  the  desert 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 
A    CORNER    IN    HORSES 

IT  was  dark  night.  The  stray-herd  bellowed  fran 
tically  from  one  of  the  big  corrals ;  the  cow-and-calf- 
herd  from  a  second.  Already  the  remuda,  driven  in 
from  the  open  plains,  scattered  about  the  thousand 
acres  of  pasture.  Away  from  the  conveniences  of 
fence  and  corral,  men  would  have  had  to  patrol  all 
night.  Now,  however,  everyone  was  gathered  about 
the  camp  fire. 

Probably  forty  cowboys  were  in  the  group,  rep 
resenting  all  types,  from  old  John,  who  had  been  in 
the  business  forty  years,  and  had  punched  from  the 
Rio  Grande  to  the  Pacific,  to  the  Kid,  who  would 
have  given  his  chance  of  salvation  if  he  could  have 
been  taken  for  ten  years  older  than  he  was.  At  the 
moment  Jed  Parker  was  holding  forth  to  his  friend 
Johnny  Stone  in  reference  to  another  old  crony  who 
had  that  evening  joined  the  round-up. 

"  Johnny,"  inquired  Jed  with  elaborate  gravity, 


126  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

and  entirely  ignoring  the  presence  of  the  subject  of 
conversation,  "  what  is  that  thing  just  beyond  the 
fire,  and  where  did  it  come  from?  " 

Johnny  Stone  squinted  to  make  sure. 

"That?"  he  replied.  "Oh,  this  evenin'  the  dogs 
see  something  run  down  a  hole,  and  they  dug  it  out, 
and  that's  what  they  got." 

The  newcomer  grinned. 

"  The  trouble  with  you  fellows,"  he  proffered,  "  is 
that  you're  so  plumb  alkalied  you  don't  know  the 
real  thing  when  you  see  it." 

"That's  right,"  supplemented  Windy  Bill  drily. 
"  He  come  from  New  York." 

"No!"  cried  Jed.  "You  don't  say  so?  Did  he 
come  in  one  box  or  in  two  ?  " 

Under  cover  of  the  laugh,  the  newcomer  made  a 
raid  on  the  dutch  ovens  and  pails.  Having  filled  his 
plate,  he  squatted  on  his  heels  and  fell  to  his  belated 
meal.  He  was  a  tall,  slab-sided  individual,  with  a 
lean,  leathery  face,  a  sweeping  white  moustache,  and 
a  grave  and  sardonic  eye.  His  leather  chaps  were 
plain  and  worn,  and  his  hat  had  been  fashioned  by 
time  and  wear  into  much  individuality.  I  was  not 
surprised  to  hear  him  nicknamed  Sacatone  Bill. 


'A    CORNER     IN     HORSES       127 

"  Just  ask  him  how  he  got  that  game  foot,"  sug 
gested  Johnny  Stone  to  me  in  an  undertone,  so,  of 
course,  I  did  not. 

Later  someone  told  me  that  the  lameness  resulted 
from  his  refusal  of  an  urgent  invitation  to  return 
across  a  river.  Mr.  Sacatone  Bill  happened  not  to 
be  riding  his  own  horse  at  the  time. 

The  Cattleman  dropped  down  beside  me  a  moment 
later. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  we  could  get 
that  fellow  talking.  He  is  a  queer  one.  Pretty  well 
educated  apparently.  Claims  to  be  writing  a  book 
of  memoirs.  Sometimes  he  will  open  up  in  good 
shape,  and  sometimes  he  will  not.  It  does  no  good  to 
ask  him  direct,  and  he  is  as  shy  as  an  old  crow  when 
you  try  to  lead  him  up  to  a  subject.  We  must  just 
lie  low  and  trust  to  Providence." 

A  man  was  playing  on  the  mouth  organ.  He 
played  excellently  well,  with  all  sorts  of  variations 
and  frills.  We  smoked  in  silence.  The  deep  rumble 
of  the  cattle  filled  the  air  with  its  diapason.  Always 
the  shrill  coyotes  raved  out  in  the  mesquite.  Saca 
tone  Bill  had  finished  his  meal,  and  had  gone  to  sit 
by  Jed  Parker,  his  old  friend.  They  talked  together 


128  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

low-voiced.  The  evening  grew,  and  the  eastern  sky 
silvered  over  the  mountains  in  anticipation  of  the 
moon. 

Sacatone  Bill  suddenly  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed. 

"  Reminds  me  of  the  time  I  went  to  Colorado ! " 
he  cried. 

"He's  off!"  whispered  the  Cattleman. 

A  dead  silence  fell  on  the  circle.  Everybody  shifted 
position  the  better  to  listen  to  the  story  of  Sacatone 
Bill. 

About  ten  year  ago  I  got  plumb  sick  of  punchin' 
cows  around  my  part  of  the  country.  She  hadn't 
rained  since  Noah,  and  I'd  forgot  what  water  outside 
a  pail  or  a  trough  looked  like.  So  I  scouted  around  in 
side  of  me  to  see  what  part  of  the  world  I'd  jump  to, 
and  as  I  seemed  to  know  as  little  of  Colorado  and 
minin'  as  anything  else,  I  made  up  the  pint  of  bean 
soup  I  call  my  brains  to  go  there.  So  I  catches  me  a 
buyer  at  Benson  and  turns  over  my  pore  little  bunch 
of  cattle  and  prepared  to  fly.  The  last  day  I  hauled 
up  about  twenty  good  buckets  of  water  and  threw 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES       129 

her  up  against  the  cabin.  My  buyer  was  settin'  his 
hoss  waitin'  for  me  to  get  ready.  He  didn't  say 
nothin'  until  we'd  got  down  about  ten  mile  or  so. 

"  Mr.  Hicks,"  says  he,  hesitatin'  like,  "  I  find  it  a 
good  rule  in  this  country  not  to  overlook  other 
folks'  plays,  but  I'd  take  it  mighty  kind  if  you'd 
explain  those  actions  of  yours  with  the  pails  of 
water." 

"  Mr.  Jones,"  says  I,  "  it's  very  simple.  I  built 
that  shack  five  year  ago,  and  it's  never  rained  since. 
I  just  wanted  to  settle  in  my  mind  whether  or  not 
that  damn  roof  leaked." 

So  I  quit  Arizona,  and  in  about  a  week  I  see  my 
reflection  in  the  winders  of  a  little  place  called  Cya 
nide  in  the  Colorado  mountains. 

Fellows,  she  was  a  bird.  They  wasn't  a  pony  in 
sight,  nor  a  squar'  foot  of  land  that  wasn't  either 
street  or  straight  up.  It  made  me  plumb  lonesome 
for  a  country  where  you  could  see  a  long  ways  even 
if  you  didn't  see  much.  And  this  early  in  the  evenin* 
they  wasn't  hardly  anybody  in  the  streets  at  all. 

I  took  a  look  at  them  dark,  gloomy,  old  mountains, 
and  a  sniff  at  a  breeze  that  would  have  frozen  the 


130  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

whiskers  of  hope,  and  I  made  a  dive  for  the  nearest 
lit  winder.  They  was  a  sign  over  it  that  just  said: 

THIS    IS    A    SALOON 

I  was  glad  they  labelled  her.  I'd  never  have  known 
it.  They  had  a  fifteen-year  old  kid  tendin'  bar,  no 
games  goin',  and  not  a  soul  in  the  place. 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  your  repose,  bub,"  says  I,  "  but 
see  if  you  can  sort  out  any  rye  among  them  col 
lections  of  sassapariller  of  yours." 

I  took  a  drink,  and  then  another  to  keep  it  company 
— I  was  beginnin'  to  sympathise  with  anythin'  lone 
some.  Then  I  kind  of  sauntered  out  to  the  back  room 
where  the  hurdy-gurdy  ought  to  be.  Sure  enough, 
there  was  a  girl  settin'  on  the  pianner  stool,  another 
in  a  chair,  and  a  nice  shiny  Jew  drummer  danglin' 
his  feet  from  a  table.  They  looked  up  when  they  see 
me  come  in,  and  went  right  on  talkin'. 

"  Hello,  girls  !  "  says  I. 

At  that  they  stopped  talkin'  complete. 

"How's  tricks?"  says  I. 

"  Who's  your  woolly  friend  ?  "  the  shiny  Jew  asks 
of  the  girls. 

I  looked  at  him  a  minutes  but  I  see  he'd  been  raised 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES       131 

a  pet,  and  then,  too,  I  was  so  hungry  for  sassiety 
I  was  willin'  to  pass  a  bet  or  two. 

"  Don't  you  admire  these  cow  gents  ?  "  snickers 
one  of  the  girls. 

"  Play  somethin',  sister,"  says  I  to  the  one  at  the 
pianner. 

She  just  grinned  at  me. 

"  Interdooce  me,"  says  the  drummer  in  a  kind  of 
a  way  that  made  them  all  laugh  a  heap. 

"  Give  us  a  tune,"  I  begs,  tryin'  to  be  jolly,  .too. 

"  She  don't  know  any  pieces,"  says  the  Jew. 

"Don't  you?"  I  asks  pretty  sharp. 

"  No,"  says  she. 

«  Well,  I  do,"  says  I. 

I  walked  up  to  her,  jerked  out  my  guns,  and 
reached  around  both  sides  of  her  to  the  pianner. 
I  run  the  muzzles  up  and  down  the  keyboard  two  or 
three  times,  and  then  shot  out  half  a  dozen  keys. 

"  That's  the  piece  I  know,"  says  I. 

But  the  other  girl  and  the  Jew  drummer  had 
punched  the  breeze. 

The  girl  at  the  pianner  just  grinned,  and  pointed 
to  the  winder  where  they  was  some  ragged  glass 
hangin'.  She  was  dead  game. 


132  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  Say,  Susie,"  says  I,  "  you're  all  right,  but  your 
friends  is  tur'ble.  I  may  be  rough,  and  I  ain't  never 
been  curried  below  the  knees,  but  I'm  better  to  tie  to 
than  them  sons  of  guns." 

"  I  believe  it,"  says  she. 

So  we  had  a  drink  at  the  bar,  and  started  out  to 
investigate  the  wonders  of  Cyanide. 

Say,  that  night  was  a  wonder.  Susie  faded  after 
about  three  drinks,  but  I  didn't  seem  to  mind  that. 
I  hooked  up  to  another  saloon  kept  by  a  thin  Dutch 
man.  A  fat  Dutchman  is  stupid,  but  a  thin  one  is 
all  right. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  more  friends  in  Cyanide  than 
they  is  fiddlers  in  hell.  I  begun  to  conclude  Cyanide 
wasn't  so  lonesome.  About  four  o'clock  in  comes 
a  little  Irishman  about  four  foot  high,  with 
more  upper  lip  than  a  muley  cow,  and  enough  red 
hair  to  make  an  artificial  aurorer  borealis.  He  had 
big  red  hands  with  freckles  pasted  onto  them,  and 
stiff  red  hairs  standin'  up  separate  and  lonesome  like 
signal  stations.  Also  his  legs  was  bowed. 

He  gets  a  drink  at  the  bar,  and  stands  back  and 
yells: 

"  God  bless  the  Irish  and  let  the  Dutch  rustle ! " 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES       133 

Now,  this  was  none  of  my  town,  so  I  just  stepped 
back  of  the  end  of  the  bar  quick  where  I  wouldn't 
stop  no  lead.  The  shootin'  didn't  begin. 

"  Probably  Dutchy  didn't  take  no  note  of  what 
the  locoed  little  dogie  did  say,"  thinks  I  to  myself. 

The  Irishman  bellied  up  to  the  bar  again,  and 
pounded  on  it  with  his  fist. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  yeUs.  "  Listen  to  what  I'm  tellin' 
ye !  God  bless  the  Irish  and  let  the  Dutch  rustle !  Do 
ye  hear  me?  " 

"  Sure,  I  hear  ye,"  says  Dutchy,  and  goes  on 
swabbin'  his  bar  with  a  towel. 

At  that  my  soul  just  grew  sick.  I  asked  the  man 
next  to  me  why  Dutchy  didn't  kill  the  little  fellow. 

«  Kill  him !  "  says  this  man.  "  What  for?  " 

"  For  insultin'  of  him,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  he's  drunk,"  says  the  man,  as  if  that  ex 
plained  anythin'. 

That  settled  it  with  me.  I  left  that  place,  and 
went  home,  and  it  wasn't  more  than  four  o'clock, 
neither.  No,  I  don't  call  four  o'clock  late.  It  may 
be  a  little  late  for  night  before  last,  but  it's  just  the 
shank  of  the  evenin'  for  to-night. 

Well,  it  took  me  six  weeks  and  two  days  to  go 


ARIZONA  NIGHTS 
broke.  I  didn't  know  sic  em'  about  minin';  and  be 
fore  long  I  knew  that  I  didn't  know  sic  'em.  Most  all 
day  I  poked  around  them  mountains — not  like  our'n 
— too  much  timber  to  be  comfortable.  At  night  I 
got  to  droppin'  in  at  Dutchy's.  He  had  a  couple 
of  quiet  games  goin',  and  they  was  one  fellow  among 
that  lot  of  grubbin'  prairie  dogs  that  had  heerd  tell 
that  cows  had  horns.  He  was  the  wisest  of  the  bunch 
on  the  cattle  business.  So  I  stowed  away  my  conso 
lation,  and  made  out  to  forget  comparing  Colorado 
with  God's  country. 

About  three  times  a  week  this  Irishman  I  told  you 
of — name  O'Toole — comes  bulgin'  in.  When  he  was 
sober  he  talked  minin'  high,  wide,  and  handsome. 
When  he  was  drunk  he  pounded  both  fists  on  the  bar 
and  yelled  for  action,  tryin'  to  get  Dutchy  on  the 
peck. 

"God  bless  the  Irish  and  let  the  Dutch  rustle!" 
he  yells  about  six  times.  "  Say,  do  you  hear?  " 

"  Sure,"  says  Dutchy,  calm  as  a  milk  cow,  M  sure, 
I  hears  ye !  " 

I  was  plumb  sorry  for  O'Toole.  I'd  like  to  have 
given  him  a  run;  but,  of  course,  I  couldn't  take  it 
up  without  makin'  myself  out  a  friend  of  this  Dutchy 


A  CORNER  IN  HORSES  135 
party,  and  I  couldn't  stand  for  that.  But  I  did 
tackle  Dutchy  about  it  one  night  when  they  wasn't 
nobody  else  there. 

"  Dutchy,"  says  I,  "  what  makes  you  let  that  bow- 
legged  cross  between  a  bulldog  and  a  flamin'  red 
sunset  tromp  on  you  so?  It  looks  to  me  like  you're 
plumb  spiritless." 

Dutchy  stopped  wipin'  glasses  for  a  minute. 

"  Just  you  hold  on,"  says  he.  "  I  ain't  ready  yc^ 
Bimeby  I  make  him  sick ;  also  those  others  who  laugh 
with  him." 

He  had  a  little  grey  flicker  in  his  eye,  and  I  thinks 
to  myself  that  maybe  they'd  get  Dutchy  on  the  peck 
yet. 

As  I  said,  I  went  broke  in  just  six  weeks  and  two 
days.  And  I  was  broke  a  plenty.  No  hold-outs 
anywhere.  It  was  a  heap  long  ways  to  cows ;  and  I'd 
be  teetotally  chawed  up  and  spit  out  if  I  was  goin' 
to  join  these  minin'  terrapins  defacin'  the  bosom  of 
nature.  It  sure  looked  to  me  like  hard  work. 

While  I  was  figurin'  what  next,  Dutchy  came  in. 
Which  I  was  tur'ble  surprised  at  that,  but  I  said 
good-mornin'  and  would  he  rest  his  poor  feet. 

"  You  like  to  make  some  money?  "  he  asks. 


136  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  That  depends,"  says  I,  "  on  how  easy  it  is." 

66  It  is  easy,"  says  he.  "  I  want  you  to  buy  hosses 
for  me." 

"Hosses!  Sure!"  I  yells,  jumpin'  up.  "You  bet 
you!  Why,  hosses  is  where  I  live!  What  hosses  do 
you  want?  " 

"  All  hosses,"  says  n<3  ^alir  its  &  .faro  dealer. 

"  Whaff"  says  I.  "  Elucidate,  my  bucko.  1'  cfoxrV 
fa£e  no  such  blanket  order.  Spread  your  cards." 

"  I  mean  just  that,"  says  he.  "I  want  you  to  buy 
all  the  hosses  in  this  camp,  and  in  the  mountains. 
Every  one." 

"Whew!'-'  I  whistles.  "That's  a  large  order. 
But  I'm  your  meat." 

"  Come  with  me,  then,"  says  he.  I  hadn't  but  just 
got  up,  but  I  went  with  him  to  his  little  old  poison 
factory.  Of  course,  I  hadn't  had  no  breakfast;  but 
he  staked  me  to  a  Kentucky  breakfast.  What's  a 
Kentucky  breakfast?  Why,  a  Kentucky  breakfast  is 
a  three-pound  steak,  a  bottle  of  whisky,  and  a  setter 
dog.  What's  the  dog  for?  Why,  to  eat  the  steak,  of 
course. 

We  come  to  an  agreement.  I  was  to  get  two-fifty 
a  head  commission.  So  I  started  out.  There  wasn't 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES       137 

many  hosses  in  that  country,  and  what  there  was  the 
owners  hadn't  much  use  for  unless  it  was  to  work  a 
whim.  I  picked  up  about  a  hundred  head  quick 
enough,  and  reported  to  Dutchy. 

"  How  about  burros  and  mules?  "  I  asks  Dutchy. 

"  They  goes,"  says  he.  "  Mules  same  as  hosses ; 
burros  four  bits  a  head  to  you." 

At  the  end  of  a  week  I  had  a  remuda  of  probably 
two  hundred  animals.  We  kept  them  over  the  hills  in 
some  "  parks,"  as  these  sots  call  meadows  in  that 
country.  I  rode  into  town  and  told  Dutchy. 

"Got  them  all?"  he  asks. 

"  All  but  a  cross-eyed  buckskin  that's  mean,  and 
the  bay  mare  that  Noah  bred  to." 

"Get  them,"  says  he. 

"  The  bandits  want  too  much,"  I  explains. 

"  Get  them  anyway,"  says  he. 

I  went  away  and  got  them.  It  was  scand'lous ;  such 
prices. 

When  I  hit  Cyanide  again  I  ran  into  scenes  of  wild 
excitement.  The  whole  passel  of  them  was  on  that 
one  street  of  their'n,  talkin'  sixteen  ounces  to  the 
pound.  In  the  middle  was  Dutchy,  drunk  as  a  sol 
dier — just  plain  foolish  drunk. 


138  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"Good  Lord!"  thinks  I  to  myself,  "he  ain't 
celebratin'  gettin'  that  bunch  of  buzzards,  i§ 
he?" 

But  I  found  he  wasn't  that  bad.  When  he  caught 
sight  of  me,  he  fell  on  me  drivellin'. 

"  Look  there ! "  he  weeps,  showin'  me  a  letter. 

I  was  the  last  to  come  in ;  so  I  kept  that  letter — 
here  she  is.  I'll  read  her. 

DEAR  DUTCHY: — I  suppose  you  thought  I'd  flew  the  coop, 
but  I  haven't  and  this  is  to  prove  it.  Pack  up  your  outfit 
and  hit  the  trail.  I've  made  the  biggest  free  gold  strike 
you  ever  see.  I'm  sending  you  specimens.  There's  tons 
just  like  it,  tons  and  tons.  I  got  all  the  claims  I  can  hold 
myself;  but  there's  heaps  more.  I've  writ  to  Johnny  and 
Ed  at  Denver  to  come  on.  Don't  give  this  away.  Make 
tracks.  Come  in  to  Buck  Canon  in  the  Whetstones  and 
oblige. 

Yours  truly, 

HENRY    SMITH. 

Somebody  showed  me  a  handful  of  white  rock  with 
yeller  streaks  in  it.  His  eyes  was  bulgin'  until  you 
could  have  hung  your  hat  on  them.  That  O'Toole 
party  was  walkin'  around,  wettin'  his  lips  with  his 
tongue  and  swearin'  soft. 

"  God  bless  the  Irish  and  let  the  Dutch  rustle ! " 


A     CORNER     IN    HORSES      139 

says  he.  "  And  the  fool  had  to  get  drunk  and  give 
it  away !  " 

The  excitement  was  just  started,  but  it  didn't  last 
long.  The  crowd  got  the  same  notion  at  the  same 
time,  and  it  just  melted.  Me  and  Dutchy  was  left 
alone. 

I  went  home.  Pretty  soon  a  fellow  named  Jimmy 
Tack  come  around  a  little  out  of  breath. 

"  Say,  you  know  that  buckskin  you  bought  off'n 
me?  "  says  he,  "  I  want  to  buy  him  back." 

"  Oh,  you  do,"  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  I've  got  to  leave  town  for  a 
couple  of  days,  and  I  got  to  have  somethin'  to  pack." 

"  Wait  and  I'll  see,"  says  I. 

Outside  the  door  I  met  another  fellow. 

"  Look  here,"  he  stops  me  with.  "  How  about  that 
bay  mare  I  sold  you?  Can  you  call  that  sale  off?  I 
got  to  leave  town  for  a  day  or  two  and " 

"  Wait,"  says  I.  "  I'll  see." 

By  the  gate  was  another  hurryin'  up. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  says  I  when  he  opens  his  mouth.  "  I 
know  all  your  troubles.  You  have  to  leave  town  for 
a  couple  of  days,  and  you  want  back  that  lizard  you 
sold  me.  Well,  wait." 


140  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

After  that  I  had  to  quit  the  main  street  and  dodge 
back  of  the  hog  ranch.  They  was  all  headed  my 
way.  I  was  as  popular  as  a  snake  in  a  prohibition 
town. 

I  hit  Dutchy's  by  the  back  door. 

"Do  you  want  to  sell  bosses?  "  I  asks.  "Every 
one  in  town  wants  to  buy." 

Dutchy  looked  hurt. 

"  I  wanted  to  keep  them  for  the  valley  market," 

says  he,  "but How  much  did  you  give  Jimmy 

Tack  for  his  buckskin?" 

"  Twenty,"  says  I. 

"Well,  let  him  have  it  for  eighty,"  says  Dutchy; 
"  and  the  others  in  proportion." 

I  lay  back  and  breathed  hard. 

"  Sell  them  all,  but  the  one  best  hoss,"  says  he — 
"  no,  the  two  best." 

"Holy  smoke!"  says  I,  gettin*  my  breath.  "If 
you  mean  that,  Dutchy,  you  lend  me  another  gun 
and  give  me  a  drink." 

He  done  so,  and  I  went  back  home  to  where  the 
whole  camp  of  Cyanide  was  waitin5. 

I  got  up  and  made  them  a  speech  and  told  them 
I'd  sell  them  bosses  all  right,  and  to  come  back.  Then 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES       141 

I  got  an  Injin  boy  to  help,  and  we  rustled  over  the 
remuda  and  held  them  in  a  blind  canon.  Then  I 
called  up  these  miners  one  at  a  time,  and  made  bar 
gains  with  them.  Roar!  Well,  you  could  hear  them 
at  Denver,  they  tell  me,  and  the  weather  reports 
said,  "  Thunder  in  the  mountains."  But  it  was  cash 
on  delivery,  and  they  all  paid  up.  They  had  seen  that 
white  quartz  with  the  gold  stickin'  into  it,  and  that's 
the  same  as  a  dose  of  loco  to  miner  gents. 

Why  didn't  I  take  a  hoss  and  start  first?  I  did 
think  of  it — for  about  one  second.  I  wouldn't  stay 
in  that  country  then  for  a  million  dollars  a  minute. 
I  was  plumb  sick  and  loathin'  it,  and  just  waitin'  to 
make  high  jumps  back  to  Arizona.  So  I  wasn't 
aimin'  to  join  this  stampede,  and  didn't  have  no 
vivid  emotions. 

They  got  to  fightin'  on  which  should  get  the  first 
hoss ;  so  I  bent  my  gun  on  them  and  made  them  draw 
lots.  They  roared  some  more,  but  done  so ;  and  as 
fast  as  each  one  handed  over  his  dust  or  dinero  he 
made  a  rush  for  his  cabin,  piled  on  his  saddle  and 
pack,  and  pulled  his  freight  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  It 
was  sure  a  grand  stampede,  and  I  enjoyed  it  no 
limit. 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

So  by  sundown  I  was  alone  with  the  Injin.  Those 
two  hundred  head  brought  in  about  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  It  was  heavy,  but  I  could  carry  it.  I  was 
about  alone  in  the  landscape ;  and  there  were  the  two 
best  hosses  I  had  saved  out  for  Dutchy.  I  was  sure 
some  tempted.  But  I  had  enough  to  get  home  on 
anyway ;  and  I  never  yet  drank  behind  the  bar,  even 
if  I  might  hold  up  the  saloon  from  the  floor.  So  I 
grieved  some  inside  that  I  was  so  tur'ble  conscien 
tious,  shouldered  the  sacks,  and  went  down  to  find 
Dutchy. 

I  met  him  headed  his  way,  and  carryin'  of  a  sheet 
of  paper. 

"  Here's  your  dinero,"  says  I,  dumpin'  the  four 
big  sacks  on  the  ground. 

He  stooped  over  and  hefted  them.  Then  he  passed 
one  over  to  me. 

"What's  that  for?  "  I  asks. 

"  For  you,"  says  he. 

"My  commission  ain't  that  much,"  I  objects. 

"  You've  earned  it,"  says  he,  "  and  you  might  have 
skipped  with  the  whole  wad." 

"  How  did  you  know  I  wouldn't?  "  I  asks. 

"Well,"  says  he,  and  I  noted  that  jag  of  his  had 


I 


They  got  to  fighten  on  which  should  get  the  first  hoss;  so  I  ^ent  my 
gun  on  them  and  made  them  draw  lots 


A     CORNER     IN     HORSES 
flew.  "  You  see,  I  was  behind  that  rock  up  there, 
and  I  had  you  covered." 

I  saw;  and  I  began  to  feel  better  about  bein'  so 
tur'ble  conscientious. 

We  walked  a  little  ways  without  sayin'  nothin'. 

"  But  ain't  you  goin'  to  join  the  game?  "  I  asks. 

"  Guess  not,"  says  he,  jinglin'  of  his  gold.  "  I'm 
satisfied." 

"  But  if  you  don't  get  a  wiggle  on  you,  you  are 
sure  goin'  to  get  left  on  those  gold  claims,"  says  I. 

"  There  ain't  no  gold  claims,"  says  he. 

"  But  Henry  Smith "  I  cries. 

"  There  ain't  no  Henry  Smith,"  says  he. 

I  let  that  soak  in  about  six  inches. 

"  But  there's  a  Buck  Canon,"  I  pleads.  "  Please 
say  there's  a  Buck  Canon." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there's  a  Buck  Canon,"  he  allows.  "  Nice 
limestone  formation — make  good  hard  water." 

"  Well,  you're  a  marvel,"  says  I. 

We  walked  on  together  down  to  Dutchy's  saloon. 
We  stopped  outside. 

"  Now,"  says  he,  "  I'm  goin'  to  take  one  of  those 
hosses  and  go  somewheres  else.  Maybe  you'd  better 
do  likewise  on  the  other." 


144.  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

"  You  bet  I  will,"  says  I. 

He  turned  around  and  tacked  up  the  paper  he  was 
carryin'.  It  was  a  sign.  It  read: 

THE   DUTCH    HAS   RUSTLED 

"  Nice  sentiment,"  says  I.  "  It  will  be  appreciated 
when  the  crowd  comes  back  from  that  little  pasear 
into  Buck  Canon.  But  why  not  tack  her  up  where  the 
trail  hits  the  camp  ?  Why  on  this  particular  door  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Dutchy,  squintin'  at  the  sign  side 
ways,  "  you  see  I  sold  this  place  day  before  yester 
day—to  Mike  O'Toole,"- 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 
THE   CORRAL   BRANDING 

ALL  that  night  we  slept  like  sticks  of  wood.  No 
dreams  visited  us,  but  in  accordance  with  the  im 
memorial  habit  of  those  who  live  out — whether  in 
the  woods,  on  the  plains,  among  the  mountains,  or 
at  sea — once  during  the  night  each  of  us  rose  on  his 
elbow,  looked  about  him,  and  dropped  back  to  sleep. 
If  there  had  been  a  fire  to  replenish,  that  would  have 
been  the  moment  to  do  so;  if  the  wind  had  been 
changing  and  the  seas  rising,  that  would  have  been 
the  time  to  cast  an  eye  aloft  for  indications,  to  feel 
whether  the  anchor  cable  was  holding;  if  the  pack- 
horses  had  straggled  from  the  alpine  meadows  under 
the  snows,  this  would  have  been  the  occasion  for  in 
tent  listening  for  the  faintly  tinkling  bell  so  that 
next  day  one  would  know  in  which  direction  to  look. 
But  since  there  existed  for  us  no  responsibility,  we 
each  reported  dutifully  at  the  roll-call  of  habit,  and 
dropped  back  into  our  blankets  with  a  grateful  sigh. 
I  remember  the  moon  sailing  a  good  gait  among 
145 


146  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

apparently  stationary  cloudlets ;  I  recall  a  deep,  black 
shadow  lying  before  distant  silvery  mountains;  I 
glanced  over  the  stark,  motionless  canvases,  each  of 
which  concealed  a  man;  the  air  trembled  with  the 
bellowing  of  cattle  in  the  corrals. 

Seemingly  but  a  moment  later  the  cook's  howl 
brought  me  to  consciousness  again.  A  clear,  licking 
little  fire  danced  in  the  blackness.  Before  it  moved 
silhouettes  of  men  already  eating. 

I  piled  out  and  j  oined  the  group.  Homer  was  busy 
distributing  his  men  for  the  day.  Three  were  to  care 
for  the  remuda;  five  were  to  move  the  stray-herd 
from  the  corrals  to  good  feed ;  three  branding  crews 
were  told  to  brand  the  calves  we  had  collected  in  the 
cut  of  the  afternoon  before.  That  took  up  about  half 
the  men.  The  rest  were  to  make  a  short  drive  in  the 
salt  grass.  I  joined  the  Cattleman,  and  together  we 
made  our  way  afoot  to  the  branding  pen. 

We  were  the  only  ones  who  did  go  afoot,  however, 
although  the  corrals  were  not  more  than  two  hundred 
yards'  distant.  When  we  arrived  we  found  the  string 
of  ponies  standing  around  outside.  Between  the  up 
right  bars  of  greasewood  we  could  see  the  cattle, 
and  near  the  opposite  side  the  men  building  a  fire 


THE     CORRAL     BRANDING 

next  the  fence.  We  pushed  open  the  wide  gate  and 
entered.  The  three  ropers  sat  their  horses,  idly 
swinging  the  loops  of  their  ropes  back  and  forth. 
Three  others  brought  wood  and  arranged  it  craftily 
in  such  manner  as  to  get  best  draught  for  heating — 
a  good  branding  fire  is  most  decidedly  a  work  of 
art.  One  stood  waiting  for  them  to  finish,  a  sheaf 
of  long  J  II  stamping  irons  in  his  hand.  All  the  rest 
squatted  on  their  heels  along  the  fence,  smoking 
cigarettes  and  chatting  together.  The  first  rays  of 
the  sun  slanted  across  in  one  great  sweep  from  the 
remote  mountains. 

In  ten  minutes  Charley  pronounced  the  irons 
ready.  Homer,  Wooden,  and  old  California  John 
rode  in  among  the  cattle.  The  rest  of  the  men  arose 
and  stretched  their  legs  and  advanced.  The  Cattle 
man  and  I  climbed  to  the  top  bar  of  the  gate,  where 
we  roosted,  he  with  his  tally-book  on  his  knee. 

Each  rider  swung  his  rope  above  his  head  with 
one  hand,  keeping  the  broad  loop  open  by  a  skilful 
turn  of  the  wrist  at  the  end  of  each  revolution.  In  a 
moment  Homer  leaned  forward  and  threw.  As  the 
loop  settled,  he  jerked  sharply  upward,  exactly  as 
one  would  strike  to  hook  a  big  fish.  This  tightened 


148  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  loop  and  prevented  it  from  slipping  off.  Im 
mediately,  and  without  waiting  to  ascertain  the  re 
sult  of  the  manoeuvre,  the  horse  turned  and  began 
methodically,  without  undue  haste,  to  walk  toward  the 
branding  fire.  Homer  wrapped  the  rope  twice  or 
thrice  about  the  horn,  and  sat  over  in  one  stirrup 
to  avoid  the  tightened  line  and  to  preserve  the  bal 
ance.  Nobody  paid  any  attention  to  the  calf. 

The  latter  had  been  caught  by  the  two  hind  legs. 
As  the  rope  tightened,  he  was  suddenly  upset,  and 
before  he  could  realise  that  something  disagreeable 
was  happening,  he  was  sliding  majestically  along 
on  his  belly.  Behind  him  followed  his  anxious  mother, 
her  head  swinging  from  side  to  side. 

Near  the  fire  the  horse  stopped.  The  two  "  bull- 
doggers  "  immediately  pounced  upon  the  victim.  It 
was  promptly  flopped  over  on  its  right  side.  One 
knelt  on  its  head  and  twisted  back  its  foreleg  in  a 
sort  of  hammer-lock;  the  other  seized  one  hind  foot, 
pressed  his  boot  heel  against  the  other  hind  leg  close 
to  the  body,  and  sat  down  behind  the  animal.  Thus 
the  calf  was  unable  to  struggle.  When  once  you 
have  had  the  wind  knocked  out  of  you,  or  a  rib  or 
two  broken,  you  cease  to  think  this  unnecessarily 


THE     CORRAL     BRANDING     149 

rough.  Then  one  or  the  other  threw  off  the  rope. 
Homer  rode  away,  coiling  the  rope  as  he  went. 

"  Hot  iron ! "  yelled  one  of  the  bull-doggers. 

"  Marker !  "  yelled  the  other. 

Immediately  two  men  ran  forward.  The  brander 
pressed  the  iron  smoothly  against  the  flank.  A  smoke 
and  the  smell  of  scorching  hair  arose.  Perhaps  the 
calf  blatted  a  little  as  the  heat  scorched.  In  a  brief 
moment  it  was  over.  The  brand  showed  cherry, 
which  is  the  proper  colour  to  indicate  due  peeling 
and  a  successful  mark. 

In  the  meantime  the  marker  was  engaged  in  his 
work.  First,  with  a  sharp  knife  he  cut  off  slanting 
the  upper  quarter  of  one  ear.  Then  he  nicked  out  a 
swallow-tail  in  the  other.  The  pieces  he  thrust  into 
his  pocket  in  order  that  at  the  completion  of  the  work 
he  could  thus  check  the  Cattleman's  tally-board  as 
to  the  number  of  calves  branded.1  The  bull-dogger 
let  go.  The  calf  sprang  up,  was  appropriated  and 
smelled  over  by  his  worried  mother,  and  the  two 
departed  into  the  herd  to  talk  it  over. 

i  For  the  benefit  of  the  squeamish  it  might  be  well  to 
state  that  the  fragments  of  the  ears  were  cartilaginous,  and 
therefore  not  bloody. 


150  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

It  seems  to  me  that  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
twaddle  is  abroad  as  to  the  extreme  cruelty  of  brand 
ing.  Undoubtedly  it  is  to  some  extent  painful,  and 
could  some  other  method  of  ready  identification  be 
devised,  it  might  be  as  well  to  adopt  it  in  preference. 
But  in  the  circumstance  of  a  free  range,  thousands 
of  cattle,  and  hundreds  of  owners,  any  other  method 
is  out  of  the  question.  I  remember  a  New  England 
movement  looking  toward  small  brass  tags  to  be 
hung  from  the  ear.  Inextinguishable  laughter  fol 
lowed  the  spread  of  this  doctrine  through  Arizona. 
Imagine  a  puncher  descending  to  examine  politely 
the  ear-tags  of  wild  cattle  on  the  open  range  or  in 
a  round-up. 

But,  as  I  have  intimated,  even  the  inevitable  brand 
ing  and  ear-marking  are  not  so  painful  as  one  might 
suppose.  The  scorching  hardly  penetrates  below  the 
outer  tough  skin — only  enough  to  kill  the  roots  of 
the  hair — besides  which  it  must  be  remembered  that 
cattle  are  not  so  sensitive  as  the  higher  nervous  or 
ganisms.  A  calf  usually  bellows  when  the  iron  bites, 
but  as  soon  as  released  he  almost  invariably  goes  to 
feeding  or  to  looking  idly  about.  Indeed,  I  have  never 


THE     CORRAL     BRANDING     151 

seen  one  even  take  the  trouble  to  lick  his  wounds, 
which  is  certainly  not  true  in  the  case  of  the  injuries 
they  inflict  on  each  other  in  fighting.  Besides  which, 
it  happens  but  once  in  a  lifetime,  and  is  over  in  ten 
seconds;  a  comfort  denied  to  those  of  us  who  have 
our  teeth  filled. 

In  the  meantime  two  other  calves  had  been  roped 
by  the  two  other  men.  One  of  the  little  animals  was 
but  a  few  months  old,  so  the  rider  did  not  bother 
with  its  hind  legs,  but  tossed  his  loop  over  its  neck. 
Naturally,  when  things  tightened  up,  Mr.  Calf  en 
tered  his  objections,  which  took  the  form  of  most 
vigorous  bawlings,  and  the  most  comical  bucking, 
pitching,  cavorting,  and  bounding  in  the  air.  Mr. 
Frost's  bull-calf  alone  in  pictorial  history  shows  the 
attitudes.  And  then,  of  course,  there  was  the  gor 
geous  contrast  between  all  this  frantic  and  uncom 
prehending  excitement  and  the  absolute  matter-of- 
fact  imperturbability  of  horse  and  rider.  Once  at 
the  fire,  one  of  the  men  seized  the  tightened  rope  in 
one  hand,  reached  well  over  the  animal's  back  to  get  a 
slack  of  the  loose  hide  next  the  belly,  lifted  strongly, 
and  tripped.  This  is  called  "  bull-dogging."  As  he 


152  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

knew  his  business,  and  as  the  calf  was  a  small 
one,  the  little  beast  went  over  promptly,  hit  the 
ground  with  a  whack,  and  was  pounced  upon  and 
held. 

Such  good  luck  did  not  always  follow,  however. 
An  occasional  and  exceedingly  husky  bull  yearling 
declined  to  be  upset  in  any  such  manner.  He  would 
catch  himself  on  one  foot,  scramble  vigorously,  and 
end  by  struggling  back  to  the  upright.  Then  ten  to 
one  he  made  a  dash  to  get  away.  In  such  case  he  was 
generally  snubbed  up  short  enough  at  the  end  of  the 
rope;  but  once  or  twice  he  succeeded  in  running 
around  a  group  absorbed  in  branding.  You  can 
imagine  what  happened  next.  The  rope,  attached 
at  one  end  to  a  conscientious  and  immovable  horse 
and  at  the  other  to  a  reckless  and  vigorous  little 
bull,  swept  its  taut  and  destroying  way  about  mid- 
knee  high  across  that  group.  The  brander  and 
marker,  who  were  standing,  promptly  sat  down  hard ; 
the  bull-doggers,  who  were  sitting,  immediately 
turned  several  most  capable  somersaults;  the  other 
calf  arose  and  inextricably  entangled  his  rope  with 
that  of  his  accomplice.  Hot  irons,  hot  language,  and 
dust  filled  the  air. 


THE     CORRAL     BRANDING     153 

Another  method,  and  one  requiring  slightly  more 
knack,  is  to  grasp  the  animal's  tail  and  throw  it  by 
a  quick  jerk  across  the  pressure  of  the  rope.  This 
is  productive  of  some  fun  if  it  fails. 

By  now  the  branding  was  in  full  swing.  The  three 
horses  came  and  went  phlegmatically.  When  the 
nooses  fell,  they  turned  and  walked  toward  the  fire 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Rarely  did  the  cast  fail.  Men 
ran  to  and  fro  busy  and  intent.  Sometimes  three  or 
four  calves  were  on  the  ground  at  once.  Cries  arose 
in  a  confusion :  "  Marker !  "  "  Hot  iron !  "  "  Tally 
one ! "  Dust  eddied  and  dissipated.  Behind  all  were 
clear  sunlight  and  the  organ  roll  of  the  cattle 
bellowing. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  morning  the  bull-dog 
gers  began  to  get  a  little  tired. 

"  No  more  necked  calves,"  they  announced. 
"  Catch  'em  by  the  hind  legs,  or  bull-dog  'em  your 
self." 

And  that  went.  Once  in  a  while  the  rider,  lazy, 
or  careless,  or  bothered  by  the  press  of  numbers, 
dragged  up  a  victim  caught  by  the  neck.  The  bull- 
doggers  flatly  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
it.  An  obvious  way  out  would  have  been  to  flip  offt 


154  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  loop  and  try  again;  but  of  course  that  would 
have  amounted  to  a  confession  of  wrong. 

"  You  fellows  drive  me  plumb  weary,"  remarked 
the  rider,  slowly  dismounting.  "  A  little  bit  of  a  calf 
like  that!  What  you  all  need  is  a  nigger  to  cut  up 
your  food  for  you ! " 

Then  he  would  spit  on  his  hands  and  go  at  it  alone. 
If  luck  attended  his  first  effort,  his  sarcasm  was 
profound. 

"  There's  yore  little  calf,"  said  he.  "  Would  you 
like  to  have  me  tote  it  to  you,  or  do  you  reckon  you 
could  toddle  this  far  with  yore  little  old  iron?  " 

But  if  the  calf  gave  much  trouble,  then  all  work 
ceased  while  the  unfortunate  puncher  wrestled  it 
down. 

Toward  noon  the  work  slacked.  Unbranded  calves 
were  scarce.  Sometimes  the  men  rode  here  and  there 
for  a  minute  or  so  before  their  eyes  fell  on  a  pair 
of  uncropped  ears.  Finally  Homer  rode  over  to  the 
Cattleman  and  reported  the  branding  finished.  The 
latter  counted  the  marks  in  his  tally-book. 

66  One  hundred  and  seventy-six,"  he  announced. 

The  markers,  squatted  on  their  heels,  told  over 
the  bits  of  ears  they  had  saved.  The  total  amounted 


THE     CORRAL     BRANDING     155 

to  but  an  hundred  and  seventy-five.  Everybody  went 
to  searching  for  the  missing  bit.  It  was  not  forth- 
coming.  Finally  Wooden  discovered  it  in  his  hip 
pocket. 

"  Felt  her  thar  all  the  time,"  said  he,  "  but  thought 
it  must  shorely  be  a  chaw  of  tobacco." 

This  matter  satisfactorily  adjusted,  the  men  all 
ran  for  their  ponies.  They  had  been  doing  a  wres 
tler's  heavy  work  all  the  morning,  but  did  not  seem 
to  be  tired.  I  saw  once  in  some  crank  physical  cul 
ture  periodical  that  a  cowboy's  life  was  physically 
ill-balanced,  like  an  oarsman's,  in  that  it  exercised 
only  certain  muscles  of  the  body.  The  writer  should 
be  turned  loose  in  a  branding  corral. 

Through  the  wide  gates  the  cattle  were  urged 
out  to  the  open  plain.  There  they  were  held  for  over 
an  hour  while  the  cows  wandered  about  looking  for 
their  lost  progeny.  A  cow  knows  her  calf  by  scent 
and  sound,  not  by  sight.  Therefore  the  noise  was 
deafening,  and  the  motion  incessant. 

Finally  the  last  and  most  foolish  cow  found  the 
last  and  most  foolish  calf.  We  turned  the  herd  loose 
to  hunt  water  and  grass  at  its  own  pleasure,  and 
went  slowly  back  to  chuck. 


CHAPTER    NINE 

THE    OLD    TIMER 

ABOUT  a  week  later,  in  the  course  of  the  round-up, 
we  reached  the  valley  of  the  Box  Springs,  where  we 
camped  for  some  days  at  the  dilapidated  and  aban 
doned  adobe  structure  that  had  once  been  a  ranch 
house  of  some  importance. 

Just  at  dusk  one  afternoon  we  finished  cutting 
the  herd  which  our  morning's  drive  had  collected. 
The  stray-herd,  with  its  new  additions  from  the 
day's  work,  we  pushed  rapidly  into  one  big  stock 
corral.  The  cows  and  unbranded  calves  we  urged 
into  another.  Fifty  head  of  beef  steers  found  asylum 
from  dust,  heat,  and  racing  to  and  fro,  in  the  mile- 
square  wire  enclosure  called  the  pasture.  All  the 
remainder,  for  which  we  had  no  further  use  we  drove 
out  of  the  flat  into  the  brush  and  toward  the  distant 
mountains.  Then  we  let  them  go  as  best  pleased  them. 

By  now  the  desert  had  turned  slate-coloured,  and 
the  brush  was  olive  green  with  evening.  The  hard, 
uncompromising  ranges,  twenty  miles  to  eastward, 

156 


THE     OLD     TIMER  157 

had  softened  behind  a  wonderful  veil  of  purple  and 
pink,  vivid  as  the  chiffon  of  a  girl's  gown.  To  the 
south  and  southwest  the  Chiricahuas  and  Dragoons 
were  lost  in  thunderclouds  which  flashed  and  rum 
bled. 

We  jogged  homewards,  our  cutting  ponies,  tired 
with  the  quick,  sharp  work,  shuffling  knee  deep  in  a 
dusk  that  seemed  to  disengage  itself  and  rise  up 
wards  from  the  surface  of  the  desert.  Everybody 
was  hungry  and  tired.  At  the  chuck  wagon  we  threw 
off  our  saddles  and  turned  the  mounts  into  the 
remuda.  Some  of  the  wisest  of  us,  remembering  the 
thunderclouds,  stacked  our  gear  under  the  veranda 
roof  of  the  old  ranch  house. 

Supper  was  ready.  We  seized  the  tin  battery,  filled 
the  plates  with  the  meat,  bread,  and  canned  corn, 
and  squatted  on  our  heels.  The  food  was  good,  and 
we  ate  hugely  in  silence.  When  we  could  hold  no 
more  we  lit  pipes.  Then  we  had  leisure  to  notice 
that  the  storm  cloud  was  mounting  in  a  portentous 
silence  to  the  zenith,  quenching  the  brilliant  desert, 
stars. 

"  Rolls  "  were  scattered  everywhere.  A  roll  in 
cludes  a  cowboy's  bed  and  all  of  his  personal  belong- 


158  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

ings.  When  the  outfit  includes  a  bed-wagon,  the  roll 
assumes  bulky  proportions. 

As  soon  as  we  had  come  to  a  definite  conclusion 
that  it  was  going  to  rain,  we  deserted  the  camp  fire 
and  went  rustling  for  our  blankets.  At  the  end  of 
ten  minutes  every  bed  was  safe  within  the  doors  of 
the  abandoned  adobe  ranch  house,  each  owner  re 
cumbent  on  the  floor  claim  he  had  pre-empted,  and 
every  man  hoping  fervently  that  he  had  guessed 
right  as  to  the  location  of  leaks. 

Ordinarily  we  had  depended  on  the  light  of  camp 
fires,  so  now  artificial  illumination  lacked.  Each  man 
was  indicated  by  the  alternately  glowing  and  wan 
ing  lozenge  of  his  cigarette  fire.  Occasionally 
someone  struck  a  match,  revealing  for  a  moment 
high-lights  on  bronzed  countenances,  and  the  silhou 
ette  of  a  shading  hand.  Voices  spoke  disembodied. 
As  the  conversation  developed,  we  gradually  rec 
ognised  the  membership  of  our  own  roomful.  I  had 
forgotten  to  state  that  the  ranch  house  included  four 
chambers.  Outside,  the  rain  roared  with  Arizona 
ferocity.  Inside,  men  congratulated  themselves,  or 
swore  as  leaks  developed  and  localised. 

Naturally  we  talked  first  of  stampedes.  Cows  and 


THE     OLD     TIMER  159 

bears  are  the  two  great  cattle-country  topics.  Then 
we  had  a  mouth-organ  solo  or  two,  which  naturally 
led  on  to  songs.  My  turn  came.  I  struck  up  the  first 
verse  of  a  sailor  chantey  as  possessing  at  least  the 
interest  of  novelty: 

Oh,  once  we  were   a-sailing,   a-sailing  were  we, 

Blow  high,  blow  low,  what  care  we; 
And  we  were  a-sailing  to  see  what  we  could  see, 

Down  on  the  coast  of  the  High  Barbaree. 

I  had  just  gone  so  far  when  I  was  brought  up 
short  by  a  tremendous  oath  behind  me.  At  the  same 
instant  a  match  flared.  I  turned  to  face  a  stranger 
holding  the  little  light  above  his  head,  and  peering 
with  fiery  intentness  over  the  group  sprawled  about 
the  floor. 

He  was  evidently  just  in  from  the  storm.  His 
dripping  hat  lay  at  his  feet.  A  shock  of  straight, 
close-clipped  vigorous  hair  stood  up  grey  above  his 
seamed  forehead.  Bushy  iron-grey  eyebrows  drawn 
close  together  thatched  a  pair  of  burning,  unquench 
able  eyes.  A  square,  deep  jaw,  lightly  stubbled  with 
grey,  was  clamped  so  tight  that  the  cheek  muscles 
above  it  stood  out  in  knots  and  welts. 

Then  the  match  burned  his  thick,  square  fingers, 


160  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

and  he  dropped  it  into  the  darkness  that  ascended  to 
swallow  it. 

"  Who  was  singing  that  song?  "  he  cried  harshly. 
Nobody  answered. 

"Who  was  that  singing?  "  he  demanded  again. 

By  this  time  I  had  recovered  from  my  first  aston 
ishment. 

"  I  was  singing,"  said  I. 

Another  match  was  instantly  lit  and  thrust  into 
my  very  face.  I  underwent  the  fierce  scrutiny  of  an 
instant,  then  the  taper  was  thrown  away  half  con 
sumed. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  it?  "  the  stranger  asked  in 
an  altered  voice. 

"  I  don't  remember,"  I  replied ;  "  it  is  a  common 
enough  deep-sea  chantey." 

A  heavy  pause  fell.  Finally  the  stranger  sighed. 

"  Quite  like,"  he  said ;  "  I  never  heard  but  one 
man  sing  it." 

"  Who  in  hell  are  you  ?  "  someone  demanded  out 
of  the  darkness. 

Before  replying,  the  newcomer  lit  a  third  match, 
searching  for  a  place  to  sit  down.  As  he  bent  for 
ward,  his  strong,  harsh  face  once  more  came  clearly 
into  view. 


THE    OLD     TIMER  161 

"  He's  Colorado  Rogers,"  the  Cattleman  answered 
for  him ;  "  I  know  him." 

"  Well,"  insisted  the  first  voice,  "  what  in  hell  does 
Colorado  Rogers  mean  by  bustin'  in  on  our  song 
•fiesta  that  way?  " 

"  Tell  them,  Rogers,"  advised  the  Cattleman,  "  tell 
them — just  as  you  told  it  down  on  the  Gila  ten 
years  ago  next  month." 

"What?"  inquired  Rogers.  "Who  are  you?  " 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  replied  the  Cattleman, 
"  but  I  was  with  Buck  Johnson's  outfit  then.  Give  us 
the  yarn." 

**  Well,"  agreed  Rogers,  "  pass  over  the  '  makings  ' 
and  I  will." 

He  rolled  and  lit  a  cigarette,  while  I  revelled  in 
the  memory  of  his  rich,  great  voice.  It  was  of  the 
sort  made  to  declaim  against  the  sea  or  the  rush 
of  rivers  or,  as  here,  the  fall  of  waters  and  the 
thunder — full,  from  the  chest,  with  the  caressing 
throat  vibration  that  gives  colour  to  the  most  ordi 
nary  statements.  After  ten  words  we  sank  back 
oblivious  of  the  storm,  forgetful  of  the  leaky  roof 
and  the  dirty  floor,  lost  in  the  story  told  us  by  the 
Old  Timer. 


CHAPTER     TEN 

THE    TEXAS    RANGERS 

I  CAME  from  Texas,  like  the  bulk  of  you  punchers, 
but  a  good  while  before  the  most  of  you  were  born. 
That  was  forty-odd  years  ago — and  I've  been  on  the 
Colorado  River  ev^r  since.  That's  why  they  call  me 
Colorado  Rogers.  About  a  dozen  of  us  came  out 
together.  We  had  all  been  Texas  Rangers,  but  when 
the  war  broke  out  we  were  out  of  a  job.  We  none 
of  us  cared  much  for  the  Johnny  Rebs,  and  still 
less  for  the  Yanks,  so  we  struck  overland  for  the 
West,  with  the  idea  of  hitting  the  California 
diggings. 

Well,  we  got  switched  off  one  way  and  another. 
When  we  got  down  to  about  where  Douglas  is  now, 
we  found  that  the  Mexican  Government  was  offering 
a  bounty  for  Apache  scalps.  That  looked  pretty 
good  to  us,  for  Injin  chasing  was  our  job,  so  we 
started  in  to  collect.  Did  pretty  well,  too,  for  about 
three  months,  and  then  the  In j ins  began  to  get  too 


THE     TEXASR  ANGERS       163 

scarce,  or  too  plenty  in  streaks.  Looked  like  our 
job  was  over  with,  but  some  of  the  boys  discovered 
that  Mexicans,  having  straight  black  hair,  you 
couldn't  tell  one  of  their  scalps  from  an  Apache's. 
After  that  the  bounty  business  picked  up  for  a 
while.  It  was  too  much  for  me,  though,  and  I  quit 
the  outfit  and  pushed  on  alone  until  I  struck  the 
Colorado  about  where  Yuma  is  now. 

At  that  time  the  California  immigrants  by  the 
southern  route  used  to  cross  just  there,  and  these 
Yuma  Injins  had  a  monopoly  on  the  ferry  business. 
They  were  a  peaceful,  fine-looking  lot,  without  a 
thing  on  but  a  gee-string.  The  women  had  belts 
with  rawhide  strings  hanging  to  the  knees.  They  put 
them  on  one  over  the  other  until  they  didn't  feel 
too  decollotey.  It  wasn't  until  the  soldiers  came  that 
the  officers'  wives  got  them  to  wear  handkerchiefs  over 
their  breasts.  The  system  was  all  right,  though. 
They  wallowed  around  in  the  hot,  clean  sand,  like 
chickens,  and  kept  healthy.  Since  they  took  to  wear 
ing  clothes  they've  been  petering  out,  and  dying  of 
dirt  and  assorted  diseases. 

They  ran  this  ferry  monopoly  by  means  of  boats 
made  of  tules,  charged  a  scand'lous  low  price,  and 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

everything  was  happy  and  lovely.  I  ran  on  a  little 
bar  and  panned  out  some  dust,  so  I  camped  a  while, 
washing  gold,  getting  friendly  with  the  Yumas,  and 
talking  horse  and  other  things  with  the  immigrants. 

About  a  month  of  this,  and  the  Texas  boys  drifted 
in.  Seems  they  sort  of  overdid  the  scalp  matter, 
and  got  found  out.  When  they  saw  me,  they  stopped 
and  went  into  camp.  They'd  travelled  a  heap  of 
desert,  and  were  getting  sick  of  it.  For  a  while  they 
tried  gold  washing,  but  I  had  the  only  pocket — and 
that  was  about  skinned.  One  evening  a  fellow  named 
Walleye  announced  that  he  had  been  doing  some 
figuring,  and  wanted  to  make  a  speech.  We  told  him 
to  fire  ahead. 

"  Now  look  here,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  use  of 
going  to  California  ?  Why  not  stay  here  ?  " 

"  What  in  hell  would  we  do  here?  "  someone  asked. 
"  Collect  Gila  monsters  for  their  good  looks  ?  " 

"  Don't  get  gay,"  said  Walleye.  "  What's  the  mat 
ter  with  going  into  business  ?  Here's  a  heap  of  people 
going  through,  and  more  coming  every  day.  This 
ferry  business  could  be  made  to  pay  big.  Them 
In j  ins  charges  two  bits  a  head.  That's  a  crime  for 
the  only  way  across.  And  how  much  do  you  sup- 


THE     TEXAS     RANGERS       165 

pose  whisky 'd  be  worth  to  drink  after  that  desert? 
And  a  man's  so  sick  of  himself  by  the  time  he  gets 
this  far  that  he'd  play  chuc^k-a-luck,  let  alone  faro 
or  monte." 

That  kind  of  talk  hit  them  where  they  lived,  and 
Yuma  was  founded  right  then  and  there.  They 
hadn't  any  whisky  yet,  but  cards  were  plenty,  and 
the  ferry  monopoly  was  too  easy.  Walleye  served 
notice  on  the  In j ins  that  a  dollar  a  head  went;  and 
we  all  set  to  building  a  tule  raft  like  the  others. 
Then  the  wild  bunch  got  uneasy,  so  they  walked 
upstream  one  morning  and  stole  the  In  j  ins'  boats. 
The  In  j  ins  came  after  them  innocent  as  babies,  think 
ing  the  raft  had  gone  adrift.  When  they  got  into 
camp  our  men  opened  up  and  killed  four  of  them 
as  a  kind  of  hint.  After  that  the  ferry  company 
didn't  have  any  trouble.  The  Yumas  moved  up  river 
a  ways,  where  they've  lived  ever  since.  They  got 
the  corpses  and  buried  them.  That  is,  they  dug  a 
trench  for  each  one  and  laid  poles  across  it,  with 
a  funeral  pyre  on  the  poles.  Then  they  put  the  body 
on  top,  and  the  women  of  the  family  cut  their 
hair  off  and  threw  it  on.  After  that  they  set  fire 
to  the  outfit,  and,  when  the  poles  had  burned  through, 


166  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

the  whole  business  fell  into  the  trench  of  its  own 
accord.  It  was  the  neatest,  automatic,  self-cocking, 
double-action  sort  of  a  funeral  I  ever  saw.  There 
wasn't  any  ceremony — only  crying. 

The  ferry  business  flourished  at  prices  which  were 
sometimes  hard  to  collect.  But  it  was  a  case  of  pay 
or  go  back,  and  it  was  a  tur'ble  long  ways  back. 
We  got  us  timbers  and  made  a  scow;  built  a  baile 
and  saloon  and  houses  out  of  adobe ;  and  called  her 
Yuma,  after  the  In j  ins  that  had  really  started  her. 
We  got  our  supplies  through  the  Gulf  of  California, 
where  sailing  boats  worked  up  the  river.  People  be 
gan  to  come  in  for  one  reason  or  another,  and  first 
thing  we  knew  we  had  a  store  and  all  sorts  of  trim 
mings.  In  fact  we  was  a  real  live  town. 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

THE   SAILOR   WITH    ONE    HAND 

AT  this  moment  the  heavy  beat  of  the  storm  on  the 
roof  ceased  with  miraculous  suddenness,  leaving  the 
outside  world  empty  of  sound  save  for  the  drip, 
drip,  drip  of  eaves.  Nobody  ventured  to  fill  in  the 
pause  that  followed  the  stranger's  last  words,  so  in 
a  moment  he  continued  his  narrative. 

We  had  every  sort  of  people  with  us  off  and  on, 
and,  as  I  was  lookout  at  a  popular  game,  I  saw 
them  all.  One  evening  I  was  on  my  way  home  about 
two  o'clock  of  a  moonlit  night,  when  on  the  edge  of 
the  shadow  I  stumbled  over  a  body  lying  part  across 
the  footway.  At  the  same  instant  I  heard  the  rip 
of  steel  through  cloth  and  felt  a  sharp  stab  in  my 
left  leg.  For  a  minute  I  thought  some  drunk  had 
used  his  knife  on  me,  and  I  mighty  near  derringered 
him  as  he  lay.  But  somehow  I  didn't,  and  looking 
closer,  I  saw  the  man  was  unconscious.  Then  I 

167 


168  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

scouted  to  see  what  had  cut  me,  and  found  that  the 
fellow  had  lost  a  hand.  In  place  of  it  he  wore  a  sharp 
steel  hook.  This  I  had  tangled  up  with  and  gotten 
well  pricked. 

I  dragged  him  out  into  the  light.  He  was  a  slim- 
built  young  fellow,  with  straight  black  hair,  long 
and  lank  and  oily,  a  lean  face,  and  big  hooked  nose. 
He  nad  on  only  a  thin  shirt,  a  pair  of  rough  wool 
pants,  and  the  rawhide  home-made  zapatos  the  Mexi 
cans  wore  then  instead  of  boots.  Across  his  forehead 
ran  a  long  gash,  cutting  his  left  eyebrow  square  in 
two. 

There  was  no  doubt  of  his  being  alive,  for  he 
was  breathing  hard,  like  a  man  does  when  he  gets 
hit  over  the  head.  It  didn't  sound  good.  When  a 
man  breathes  that  way  he's  mostly  all  gone. 

Well,  it  was  really  none  of  my  business,  as  you 
might  say.  Men  got  batted  over  the  head  often 
enough  in  those  days.  But  for  some  reason  I  picked 
him  up  and  carried  him  to  my  'dobe  shack,  and  laid 
him  out,  and  washed  his  cut  with  sour  wine.  That 
brought  him  to.  Sour  wine  is  fine  to  put  a  wound 
in  shape  to  heal,  but  it's  no  soothing  syrup.  He  sat 
up  as  though  he'd  been  touched  with  a  hot  poker, 


SAILOR     WITH     ONE     HAND     169 

stared  around  wild-eyed,  and  cut  loose  with  that 
song  you  were  singing.  Only  it  wasn't  that  verse. 
It  was  another  one  further  along,  that  went  like  this : 

Their  coffin  was  their  ship,  and  their  grave  it  was  the    • 

sea, 

Blow  high,  blow  low,  what  care  we; 
And  the  quarter  that  we  gave  them  was  to  sink  them  in 

the  sea, 
Down  on  the  coast  of  the  High  Barbaree. 

It  fair  made  my  hair  rise  to  hear  him,  with  the 
big,  still,  solemn  desert  outside,  and  the  quiet  moon- 
lignt,  and  the  shadows,  and  him  sitting  up  straight 
and  gaunt,  his  eyes  blazing  each  side  his  big  eagle 
nose,  and  his  snaky  hair  hanging  over  the  raw  cut 
across  his  head.  However,  I  made  out  to  get  him 
bandaged  up  and  in  shape;  and  pretty  soon  he  sort 
of  went  to  sleep. 

Well,  he  was  clean  out  of  his  head  for  nigh  two 
weeks.  Most  of  the  time  he  lay  flat  on  his  back 
staring  at  the  pole  roof,  his  eyes  burning  and  look 
ing  like  they  saw  each  one  something  a  different  dis 
tance  off,  the  way  crazy  eyes  do.  That  was  when  he 
was  best.  Then  again  he'd  sing  that  Barbaree  song 
until  I'd  go  out  and  look  at  the  old  Colorado  flowing 


170  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

by  just  to  be  sure  I  hadn't  died  and  gone  below. 
Or  else  he'd  just  talk.  That  was  the  worst  perform 
ance  of  all.  It  was  like  listening  to  one  end  of  a 
telephone,  though  we  didn't  know  what  telephones 
were  in  those  days.  He  began  when  he  was  a  kid, 
and  he  gave  his  side  of  conversations,  pausing  for 
replies.  I  could  mighty  near  furnish  the  replies 
sometimes.  It  was  queer  lingo — about  ships  and  ships' 
officers  and  gales  and  calms  and  fights  and  pearls 
and  whales  and  islands  and  birds  and  skies.  But  it 
was  all  little  stuff.  I  used  to  listen  by  the  hour,  but 
I  never  made  out  anything  really  important  as  to 
who  the  man  was,  or  where  he'd  come  from,  or  what 
he'd  done. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  I  came  in  at  noon 
as  per  usual  to  fix  him  up  with  grub.  I  didn't  pay 
any  attention  to  him,  for  he  was  quiet.  As  I  was 
bending  over  the  fire  he  spoke.  Usually  I  didn't 
bother  with  his  talk,  for  it  didn't  mean  anything, 
but  something  in  his  voice  made  me  turn.  He  was 
lying  on  his  side,  those  black  eyes  of  his  blazing 
at  me,  but  now  both  of  them  saw  the  same  distance. 

"Where  are  my  clothes?"  he  asked,  very  in 
tense. 


SAILOR     WITH     ONE     HAND     171 

"  You  ain't  in  any  shape  to  want  clothes,"  said 
I.  "  Lie  still." 

I  hadn't  any  more  than  got  the  words  out  of  my 
mouth  before  he  was  atop  me.  His  method  was  a 
winner.  He  had  me  by  the  throat  with  his  hand, 
and  I  felt  the  point  of  the  hook  pricking  the  back 

of  my  neck.  One  little  squeeze Talk  about  your 

deadly  weapons ! 

But  he'd  been  too  sick  and  too  long  abed.  He 
turned  dizzy  and  keeled  over,  and  I  dumped  him  back 
on  the  bunk.  Then  I  put  my  six-shooter  on. 

In  a  minute  or  so  he  came  to. 

"  Now  you're  a  nice,  sweet  proposition,"  said 
I,  as  soon  as  I  was  sure  he  could  understand  me. 
"  Here  I  pick  you  up  on  the  street  and  save  your 
worthless  carcass,  and  the  first  chance  you  get  you 
try  to  crawl  my  hump.  Explain." 

"  Where's  my  clothes  ?  "  he  demanded  again,  very 
fierce. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  I  yelled  at  him,  "  what's  the 
matter  with  you  and  your  old  clothes?  There  ain't 
enough  of  them  to  dust  a  fiddle  with  anyway.  What 
do  you  think  I'd  want  with  them?  They're  safe 
enough." 


172  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  Let  me  have  them,"  he  begged. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  I,  "  you  can't  get  up 
to-day.  You  ain't  fit." 

"  I  know,"  he  pleaded,  "  but  let  me  see  them." 

Just  to  satisfy  him  I  passed  over  his  old  duds. 

"  I've  been  robbed,"  he  cried. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  did  you  expect  would 
happen  to  you  lying  around  Yuma  after  midnight 
with  a  hole  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  Where's   my   coat? "   he   asked. 

"  You  had  no  coat  when  I  picked  you  up,"  I 
replied. 

He  looked  at  me  mighty  suspicious,  but  didn't 
say  anything  more — wouldn't  even  answer  when  I 
spoke  to  him.  After  he'd  eaten  a  fair  meal  he  fell 
asleep.  When  I  came  back  that  evening  the  bunk 
was  empty  and  he  was  gone. 

I  didn't  see  him  again  for  two  days.  Then  I 
caught  sight  of  him  quite  a  ways  off.  He  nodded 
at  me  very  sour,  and  dodged  around  the  corner  of 
the  store. 

"  Guess  he  suspicions  I  stole  that  old  coat  of 
his,"  thinks  I;  and  afterwards  I  found  that  my  sur 
mise  had  been  correct. 


SAILOR     WITH     ONE     HAND     173 

However,  he  didn't  stay  long  in  that  frame  of 
mind.  It  was  along  towards  evening,  and  I  was 
walking  on  the  banks  looking  down  over  the  muddy 
old  Colorado,  as  I  always  liked  to  do.  The  sun  had 
just  set,  and  the  mountains  had  turned  hard  and  stiff, 
as  they  do  after  the  glow,  and  the  sky  above  them 
was  a  thousand  million  miles  deep  of  pale  green- 
gold  light.  A  pair  of  Greasers  were  ahead  of  me, 
but  I  could  see  only  their  outlines,  and  they  didn't 
seem  to  interfere  any  with  the  scenery.  Suddenly 
a  black  figure  seemed  to  rise  up  out  of  the  ground; 
the  Mexican  man  went  down  as  though  he'd  been 
jerked  with  a  string,  and  the  woman  screeched. 

I  ran  up,  pulling  my  gun.  The  Mex  was  flat  on 
his  face,  his  arms  stretched  out.  On  the  middle  of 
his  back  knelt  my  one-armed  friend.  And  that  sharp 
hook  was  caught  neatly  under  the  point  of  the  Mexi 
can's  jaw.  You  bet  he  lay  still. 

I  really  think  I  was  just  in  time  to  save  the  man's 
life.  According  to  my  belief  another  minute  would 
have  buried  the  hook  in  the  Mexican's  neck.  Anyway, 
I  thrust  the  muzzle  of  my  Colt's  into  the  sailor's 
face. 

"What's  this?"  I  asked. 


174  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

The  sailor  looked  up  at  me  without  changing  his 
position.  He  was  not  the  least  bit  afraid. 

"  This  man  has  my  coat,"  he  explained. 

"  Where'd  you  get  the  coat?  "  I  asked  the  Mex. 

"  I  ween  heem  at  monte  off  Antonio  Curvez," 
said  he. 

"  Maybe,"  growled  the  sailor. 

He  still  held  the  hook  under  the  man's  jaw,  but 
with  the  other  hand  he  ran  rapidly  under  and  over 
the  Mexican's  left  shoulder.  In  the  half  light  I  could 
see  his  face  change.  The  gleam  died  from  his  eye; 
the  snarl  left  his  lips.  Without  further  delay  he  arose 
to  his  feet. 

"  Get  up  and  give  it  here,"  he  demanded. 

The  Mexican  was  only  too  glad  to  get  off  so 
easy.  I  don't  know  whether  he'd  really  won  the 
coat  at  monte  or  not.  In  any  case,  he  flew  poco 
pronto,  leaving  me  and  my  friend  together. 

The  man  with  the  hook  felt  the  left  shoulder  of 
the  coat  again,  looked  up,  met  my  eye,  muttered 
something  intended  to  be  pleasant,  and  walked  away. 

This  was  in  December. 

During  the  next  two  months  he  was  a  good  deal 
about  town,  mostly  doing  odd  jobs.  I  saw  him  off 


SAILOR     WITH     ONE     HAND     175 

and  on.  He  always  spoke  to  me  as  pleasantly  as 
he  knew  how,  and  once  made  some  sort  of  a  bluff 
about  paying  me  back  for  my  trouble  in  bringing 
him  around.  However,  I  didn't  pay  much  attention 
to  that,  being  at  the  time  almighty  busy  holding 
down  my  card  games. 

The  last  day  of  February  I  was  sitting  in  my 
shack  smoking  a  pipe  after  supper,  when  my  one- 
armed  friend  opened  the  door  a  foot,  slipped  in,  and 
shut  it  immediately.  By  the  time  he  looked  towards 
me  I  knew  where  my  six-shooter  was. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  I,  "  but  you  better  stay 
right  there." 

I  intended  to  take  no  more  chances  with  that 
hook. 

He  stood  there  looking  straight  at  me  without 
winking  or  offering  to  move. 

"What  do  you  want?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  want  to  make  up  to  you  for  your  trouble," 
said  he.  "  I've  got  a  good  thing,  and  I  want  to  let 
you  in  on  it." 

"  What  kind  of  a  good  thing? "  I  asked. 

"  Treasure,"  said  he. 

"  H'm,"  said  I. 


176  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

I  examined  him  closely.  He  looked  all  right 
enough,  neither  drunk  nor  loco. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  I — "  over  there;  the  other  side 
the  table."  He  did  so.  "  Now,  fire  away,"  said  I. 

He  told  me  his  name  was  Solomon  Anderson, 
but  that  he  was  generally  known  as  Handy  Solo 
mon,  on  account  of  his  hook;  that  he  had  always 
followed  the  sea;  that  lately  he  had  coasted  the 
west  shores  of  Mexico;  that  at  Guaymas  he  had 
fallen  in  with  Spanish  friends,  in  company  with 
whom  he  had  visited  the  mines  in  the  Sierra  Madre; 
that  on  this  expedition  the  party  had  been  attacked 
by  Yaquis  and  wiped  out,  he  alone  surviving;  that 
his  blanket-mate  before  expiring  had  told  him  of 
gold  buried  in  a  cove  of  Lower  California  by  the 
man's  grandfather;  that  the  man  had  given  him  a 
chart  showing  the  location  of  the  treasure;  that  he 
had  sewn  this  chart  in  the  shoulder  of  his  coat, 
whence  his  suspicion  of  me  and  his  being  so  loco 
about  getting  it  back. 

"  And  it's  a  big  thing,"  said  Handy  Solomon  to 
me,  "  for  they's  not  only  gold,  but  altar  jewels  and 
diamonds.  It  will  make  us  rich,  and  a  dozen  like 
us,  and  you  can  kiss  the  Book  on  that." 


SAILOR    WITH     ONE     HAND     177 

"  That  may  all  be  true,"  said  I,  "  but  why  do 
you  tell  me?  Why  don't  you  get  your  treasure  with 
out  the  need  of  dividing  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  mate,"  he  answered,  "  it's  just  plain  grati 
tude.  Didn't  you  save  my  life,  and  nuss  me,  and 
take  care  of  me  when  I  was  nigh  killed  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Anderson,  or  Handy  Solomon,  or 
whatever  you  please  to  call  yourself,"  I  rejoined  to 
this,  "  if  you're  going  to  do  business  with  me — and  I 
do  not  understand  yet  just  what  it  is  you  want  of 
me — you'll  have  to  talk  straight.  It's  all  very  well 
to  say  gratitude,  but  that  don't  go  with  me.  You've 
been  around  here  three  months,  and  barring  a  half- 
dozen  civil  words  and  twice  as  many  of  the  other 
kind,  I've  failed  to  see  any  indications  of  your  grati 
tude  before.  It's  a  quality  with  a  hell  of  a  hang-fire 
to  it." 

He  looked  at  me  sideways,  spat,  and  looked  at 
me  sideways  again.  Then  he  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  The  devil's  a  preacher,  if  you  ain't  lost  your  pin- 
feathers,"  said  he.  "  Well,  it's  this  then :  I  got  to 
have  a  boat  to  get  there;  and  she  must  be  stocked. 
And  I  got  to  have  help  with  the  treasure,  if  it's 
like  this  fellow  said  it  was.  And  the  Yaquis  and  can- 


170  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

nibals  from  Tiburon  is  through  the  country.  It's 
money  I  got  to  have,  and  it's  money  I  haven't  got, 
and  can't  get  unless  I  let  somebody  in  as  pardner." 

"Why  me?"  I  asked. 

"Why  not?"  he  retorted,  "I  ain't  see  anybody 
I  like  better." 

We  talked  the  matter  over  at  length.  I  had  to 
force  him  to  each  point,  for  suspicion  wsts  strong 
in  him.  I  stood  out  for  a  larger  party.  He  strongly 
opposed  this  as  depreciating  the  shares,  but  I  had 
no  intention  of  going  alone  into  what  was  then 
considered  a  wild  and  dangerous  country.  Finally 
we  compromised.  A  third  of  the  treasure  was  to  go 
to  him,  a  third  to  me,  and  the  rest  was  to  be  divided 
among  the  men  whom  I  should  select.  This  scheme 
did  not  appeal  to  him. 

"  How  do  I  know  you  plays  fair  ?  "  he  complained. 
"  They'll  be  four  of  you  to  one  of  me ;  and  I  don't 
like  it,  and  you  can  kiss  the  Book  on  that." 

"  If  you  don't  like  it,  leave  it,"  said  I,  "  and  get 
out,  and  be  damned  to  you." 

Finally  he  agreed ;  but  he  refused  me  a  look  at  the 
chart,  saying  that  he  had  left  it  in  a  safe  place.  I 
believe  in  reality  he  wanted  to  be  surer  of  me,  and 
for  that  I  can  hardly  blame  him. 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

THE   MURDER   ON   THE   BEACH 

AT  this  moment  the  cook  stuck  his  head  in  at  the 
open  door. 

"  Say,  you  fellows,"  he  complained,  "  I  got  to 
be  up  at  three  o'clock.  Ain't  you  never  goin'  to 
turn  in?" 

"Shut  up,  Doctor!"  "Somebody  kill  him!" 
"  Here,  sit  down  and  listen  to  this  yarn ! "  yelled  a 
savage  chorus. 

There  ensued  a  slight  scuffle,  a  few  objections. 
Then  silence,  and  the  stranger  took  up  his  story. 

I  had  a  chum  named  Billy  Simpson,  and  I  rung 
him  in  for  friendship.  Then  there  was  a  solemn,  tall 
Texas  young  fellow,  strong  as  a  bull,  straight  and 
tough,  brought  up  fighting  In j  ins.  He  never  said 
much,  but  I  knew  he'd  be  right  there  when  the  gong 
struck.  For  fourth  man  I  picked  out  a  German 
named  Schwartz.  He  and  Simpson  had  just  come 
back  from  the  mines  together.  I  took  him  because 

179 


180  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

he  was  a  friend  of  Billy's,  and  besides  was  young 
and  strong,  and  was  the  only  man  in  town  excepting 
the  sailor,  Anderson,  who  knew  anything  about  run 
ning  a  boat.  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  Texas  fellow 
was  named  Denton. 

Handy  Solomon  had  his  boat  all  picked  out.  It 
belonged  to  some  Basques  who  had  sailed  her  around 
from  California.  I  must  say  when  I  saw  her  I  felt 
inclined  to  renig,  for  she  wasn't  more'n  about  twenty- 
five  feet  long,  was  open  except  for  a  little  sort  of 
cubby-hole  up  in  the  front  of  her,  had  one  mast,  and 
was  pointed  at  both  ends.  However,  Schwartz  said 
she  was  all  right.  He  claimed  he  knew  the  kind ;  that 
she  was  the  sort  used  by  French  fishermen,  and  could 
stand  all  sorts  of  trouble.  She  didn't  look  it. 

We  worked  her  up  to  Yuma,  partly  with  oars  and 
partly  by  sails.  Then  we  Loaded  her  with  grub  for 
a  month.  Each  of  us  had  his  own  weapons,  of  course. 
In  addition  we  put  in  picks  and  shovels,  and  a  small 
cask  of  water.  Handy  Solomon  said  that  would  be 
enough,  as  there  was  water  marked  down  on  his 
chart.  We  told  the  gang  that  we  were  going  trading. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  we  started,  and  were  out 
four  days.  There  wasn't  much  room,  what  with  the 


MURDER     ON     THE     BEACH     181 

supplies  and  the  baggage,  for  the  five  of  us.  We  had 
to  curl  up  'most  anywheres  to  sleep.  And  it  certainly 
seemed  to  me  that  we  were  in  lots  of  danger.  The 
waves  were  much  bigger  than  she  was,  and  splashed 
on  us  considerable,  but  Schwartz  and  Anderson  didn't 
seem  to  mind.  They  laughed  at  us.  Anderson  sang 
that  song  of  his,  and  Schwartz  told  us  of  the 
placers  he  had  worked., He  and  Simpson  had  made 
a  pretty  good  clean-up,  just  enough  to  make  them 
want  to  get  rich.  The  first  day  out  Simpson  showed 
us  a  belt  with  about  an  hundred  ounces  of  dust. 
This  he  got  tired  of  wearing,  so  he  kept  it  in  a 
compass-box,  which  was  empty. 

At  the  end  of  the  four  days  we  turned  in  at  a 
deep  bay  and  came  to  anchor.  The  country  was  the 
usual  proposition — very  light-brown,  brittle-looking 
mountains,  about  two  thousand  feet  high;  lots  of 
sage  and  cactus,  a  pebbly  beach,  and  not  a  sign  of 
anything  fresh  and  green. 

But  Denton  and  I  were  mighty  glad  to  see  any 
sort  of  land.  Besides,  our  keg  of  water  was  pretty 
low,  and  it  was  getting  about  time  to  discover  the 
spring  the  chart  spoke  of.  So  we  piled  our  camp 
stuff  in  the  small  boat  and  rowed  ashore. 


182  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Anderson  led  the  way  confidently  enough  up  a 
dry  arroyo,  whose  sides  were  clay  and  conglomerate. 
But,  though  we  followed  it  to  the  end,  we  could  find 
no  indications  that  it  was  anything  more  than  a 
wash  for  rain  floods. 

"  That's  main  queer,"  muttered  Anderson,  and 
returned  to  the  beach. 

There  he  spread  out  the  chart — the  first  look  at  it 
we'd  had — and  set  to  studying  it. 

It  was  a  careful  piece  of  work  done  in  India  ink, 
pretty  old,  to  judge  by  the  look  of  it,  and  with  all 
sorts  of  pictures  of  mountains  and  dolphins  and 
ships  and  anchors  around  the  edge.  There  was  our 
bay,  all  right.  Two  crosses  were  marked  on  the  land 
part — one  labelled  "  oro  "  and  the  other  "  agua." 

"  Now  there's  the  high  cliff,"  says  Anderson,  fol 
lowing  it  out,  "  and  there's  the  round  hill  with  the 
boulder — and  if  them  bearings  don't  point  due  for 
that  ravine,  the  devil's  a  preacher." 

We  tried  it  again,  with  the  same  result.  A  sec 
ond  inspection  of  the  map  brought  us  no  light  on 
the  question.  We  talked  it  over,  and  looked  at  it 
from  all  points,  but  we  couldn't  dodge  the  truth: 
the  chart  was  wrong. 


MURDER     ON     THE     BEACH     183 

Then  we  explored  several  of  the  nearest  gullies, 
but  without  finding  anything  but  loose  stones  baked 
hot  in  the  sun. 

By  now  it  was  getting  towards  sundown,  so  we 
built  us  a  fire  of  mesquite  on  the  "beach,  made  us 
supper,  and  boiled  a  pot  of  beans. 

We  talked  it  over.  The  water  was  about  gone. 

"  That's  what  we've  got  to  find  first,"  said  Simp 
son,  "  no  question  of  it.  It's  God  knows  how  far 
to  the  next  water,  and  we  don't  know  how  long  it  will 
take  us  to  get  there  in  that  little  boat.  If  we  run 
our  water  entirely  out  before  we  start,  we're  going 
to  be  in  trouble.  We'll  have  a  good  look  to-morrow, 
and  if  we  don't  find  her,  we'll  run  down  to  Mollyhay1 
and  get  a  few  extra  casks." 

"  Perhaps  that  map  is  wrong  about  the  treasure, 
too,"  suggested  Denton. 

"  I  thought  of  that,"  said  Handy  Solomon,  "  but 
then,  thinks  I  to  myself,  this  old  rip  probably  don't 
make  no  long  stay  here — just  dodges  in  and  out 
like,  between  tides,  to  bury  his  loot.  He  would  need 
no  water  at  the  time;  but  he  might  when  he  came 
back,  so  he  marked  the  water  on  his  map.  But  he 
i  Mulege— I  retain  the  Old  Timer's  pronunciation. 


184  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

wasn't  noways  particular  and  exact,  being  in  a 
hurry.  But  you  can  kiss  the  Book  to  it  that  he  didn't 
make  no  such  mistakes  about  the  swag." 

"  I  believe  you're  right,"  said  I. 

When  we  came  to  turn  in,  Anderson  suggested 
that  he  should  sleep  aboard  the  boat.  But  Billy 
Simpson,  in  mind  perhaps  of  the  hundred  ounces  in 
the  compass-box,  insisted  that  he'd  just  as  soon  as 
not.  After  a  little  objection  Handy  Solomon  gave 
in,  but  I  thought  he  seemed  sour  about  it.  We  built 
a  good  fire,  and  in  about  ten  seconds  were  asleep. 

Now,  usually  I  sleep  like  a  log,  and  did  this  time 
until  about  midnight.  Then  all  at  once  I  came  broad 
awake  and  sitting  up  in  my  blankets.  Nothing  had 
happened — I  wasn't  even  dreaming — but  there  I  was 
as  alert  and  clear  as  though  it  were  broad  noon. 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  I  saw  Handy  Solomon 
sitting,  and  at  his  side  our  five  rifles  gathered. 

I  must  have  made  some  noise,  for  he  turned  quietly 
toward  me,  saw  I  was  awake,  and  nodded.  The  moon 
light  was  sparkling  on  the  hard  stony  landscape, 
and  a  thin  dampness  came  out  from  the  sea. 

After  a  minute  Anderson  threw  on  another  stick 
of  wood,  yawned,  and  stood  up. 


MURDER     ON     THE     BEACH     185 

"  It's  wet,"  said  he ;  "  I've  been  fixing  the  guns." 

He  showed  me  how  he  was  inserting  a  little  patch 
of  felt  between  the  hammer  and  the  nipple — a  scheme 
of  his  own  for  keeping  damp  from  the  powder.  Then 
he  rolled  up  in  his  blanket.  At  the  time  it  all  seemed 
quite  natural — I  suppose  my  mind  wasn't  fully 
awake,  for  all  my  head  felt  so  clear.  Afterwards  I 
realised  what  a  ridiculous  bluff  he  was  making:  for 
of  course  the  cap  already  on  the  nipple  was  plenty 
to  keep  out  the  damp.  I  fully  believe  he  intended  to 
kill  us  as  we  lay.  Only  my  sudden  awakening  spoiled 
his  plan. 

I  had  absolutely  no  idea  of  this  at  the  time,  how 
ever.  Not  the  slightest  suspicion  entered  my  head. 
In  view  of  that  fact,  I  have  since  believed  in  guardian 
angels.  For  my  next  move,  which  at  the  time  seemed 
to  me  absolutely  aimless,  was  to  change  my  blankets 
from  one  side  of  the  fire  to  the  other.  And  that 
brought  me  alongside  the  five  rifles. 

Owing  to  this  fact,  I  am  now  convinced,  we  awoke 
safe  at  daylight,  cooked  breakfast,  and  laid  the  plan 
for  the  day.  Anderson  directed  us.  I  was  to  climb 
over  the  ridge  before  us  and  search  in  the  ravine 
on  the  other  side.  Schwartz  was  to  explore  up  the 


186  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

beach  to  the  left,  and  Denton  to  the  right.  Anderson 
said  he  would  wait  for  Billy  Simpson,  who  had  over 
slept  in  the  darkness  of  the  cubby-hole,  and  who  was 
now  paddling  ashore.  The  two  of  them  would  push 
inland  to  the  west  until  a  high  hill  would  give  them 
a  chance  to  look  around  for  greenery. 

We  started  at  once,  before  the  sun  would  be  hot. 
The  hill  I  had  to  climb  was  steep  and  covered  with 
chollas,  so  I  didn't  get  along  very  fast.  When  I  was 
about  half  way  to  the  top  I  heard  a  shot  from  the 
beach.  I  looked  back.  Anderson  was  in  the  small 
boat,  rowing  rapidly  out  to  the  vessel.  Denton  was 
running  up  the  beach  from  one  direction  and 
Schwartz  from  the  other.  I  slid  and  slipped  down 
the  bluff,  getting  pretty  well  stuck  up  with  the 
cholla  spines. 

At  the  beach  we  found  Billy  Simpson  lying  on  his 
face,  shot  through  the  back.  We  turned  him  over, 
but  he  was  apparently  dead.  Anderson  had  hoisted 
the  sail,  had  cut  loose  from  the  anchor,  and  was 
sailing  away. 

Denton  stood  up  straight  and  tall,  looking.  Then 
he  pulled  his  belt  in  a  hole,  grabbed  my  arm,  and 
started  to  run  up  the  long  curve  of  the  beach.  Be- 


MURDER     ON     THE     BEACH     187 

hind  us  came  Schwartz.  We  ran  near  a  mile,  and 
then  fell  among  some  tules  in  an  inlet  at  the  farther 
point. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  gasped. 

"  Our  only  chance — to  get  him "  said  Denton. 

"  He's  got  to  go  around  this  point — big  wind- 
perhaps  his  mast  will  bust — then  he'll  come 

ashore "  He  opened  and  shut  his  big  brown 

hands. 

So  there  we  two  fools  lay,  like  panthers  in  the 
tules,  taking  our  only  one-in-a-million  chance  to 
lay  hands  on  Anderson.  Any  sailor  could  have  told 
us  that  the  mast  wouldn't  break,  but  we  had  winded 
Schwartz  a  quarter  of  a  mile  back.  And  so  we  waited, 
our  eyes  fixed  on  the  boat's  sail,  grudging  her  every 
inch,  just  burning  to  fix  things  to  suit  us  a  little 
better.  And  naturally  she  made  the  point  in  what  I 
now  know  was  only  a  fresh  breeze,  squared  away, 
and  dropped  down  before  the  wind  toward  Guaymas. 

We  walked  back  slowly  to  our  camp,  swallowing 
the  copper  taste  of  too  hard  a  run.  Schwartz 
we  picked  up  from  a  boulder,  just  recovering. 
We  were  all  of  us  crazy  mad.  Schwartz  half 
wept,  and  blamed  and  cussed.  Denton  glowered  away 


188  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

in  silence.  I  ground  my  feet  into  the  sand  in  a  help 
less  sort  of  anger,  not  only  at  the  man  himself,  but 
also  at  the  whole  way  things  had  turned  out.  I  don't 
believe  the  least  notion  of  our  predicament  had  come 
to  any  of  us.  All  we  knew  yet  was  that  we  had 
been  done  up,  and  we  were  hostile  about  it. 

But  at  camp  we  found  something  to  occupy  us 
for  the  moment.  Poor  Billy  was  not  dead,  as  we  had 
supposed,  but  very  weak  and  sick,  and  a  hole  square 
through  him.  When  we  returned  he  was  conscious, 
but  that  was  about  all.  His  eyes  were  shut,  and  he 
was  moaning.  I  tore  open  his  shirt  to  stanch  the 
blood.  He  felt  my  hand  and  opened  his  eyes.  They 
were  glazed,  and  I  don't  think  he  saw  me. 

"  Water,  water !  "  he  cried. 

At  that  we  others  saw  all  at  once  where  we  stood. 
I  remember  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  found  myself 
staring  straight  into  Tom  Denton's  eyes.  We  looked 
at  each  other  that  way  for  I  guess  it  was  a  full 
minute.  Then  Tom  shook  his  head. 

"  Water,  water !  "  begged  poor  Billy. 

Tom  leaned  over  him. 

"  My  God,  Billy,  there  ain't  any  water ! "  said  h$, 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

BURIED    TREASURE 

THE  Old  Timer's  voice  broke  a  little.  We  had  leisure 
to  notice  that  even  the  drip  from  the  eaves  had 
ceased.  A  faint,  diffused  light  vouchsafed  us  dim 
outlines  of  sprawling  figures  and  tumbled  bedding. 
Far  in  the  distance  outside  a  wolf  yelped. 

We  could  do  nothing  for  him  except  shelter  him 
from  the  sun,  and  wet  his  forehead  with  sea-water; 
nor  could  we  think  clearly  for  ourselves  as  long  as 
the  spark  of  life  lingered  in  him.  His  chest  rose  and 
fell  regularly,  but  with  long  pauses  between.  When 
the  sun  was  overhead  he  suddenly  opened  his  eyes. 

"Fellows,"  said  he,  "it's  beautiful  over  there; 
the  grass  is  so  green,  and  the  water  so  cool ;  I  am 
tired  of  marching,  and  I  reckon  I'll  cross  over  and 
camp." 

Then  he  died.  We  scooped  out  a  shallow  hole 
above  tide-mark,  and  laid  him  in  it,  and  piled  over 
him  stones  from  the  wash. 

189 


190  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Then  we  went  back  to  the  beach,  very  solemn,  to 
talk  it  over. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  I,  "  there  seems  to  me  just 
one  thing  to  do,  and  that  is  to  pike  out  for  water 
as  fast  as  we  can." 

"  Where?  "  asked  Denton. 

"  Well,"  I  argued,  "  I  don't  believe  there's  any 
water  about  this  bay.  Maybe  there  was  when  that 
chart  was  made.  It  was  a  long  time  ago.  And  any 
way,  the  old  pirate  was  a  sailor,  and  no  plainsman, 
and  maybe  he  mistook  rainwater  for  a  spring. 
We've  looked  around  this  end  of  the  bay.  The 
chances  are  we'd  use  up  two  or  three  days  exploring 
around  the  other,  and  then  wouldn't  be  as  well  off 
as  we  are  right  now." 

"  Which  way?  "  asked  Denton  again,  mighty  brief. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "there's  one  thing  I've  always 
noticed  in  case  of  folks  held  up  by  the  desert :  they 
generally  go  wandering  about  here  and  there  looking 
for  water  until  they  die  not  far  from  where  they 
got  lost.  And  usually  they've  covered  a  heap  of 
actual  distance." 

"  That's  so,"  agreed  Denton. 

"  Now,  I've  always  figured  that  it  would  be  a  good 


BURIED     TREASURE  191 

deal  better  to  start  right  out  for  some  particular 
place,  even  if  it's  ten  thousand  miles  away.  A  man 
is  just  as  likely  to  strike  water  going  in  a  straight 
line  as  he  is  going  in  a  circle;  and  then,  besides, 
he's  getting  somewhere." 

"  Correct,"  said  Denton. 

"So,"  I  finished,  "I  reckon  we'd  better  follow 
the  coast  south  and  try  to  get  to  Mollyhay." 

"How  far  is  that?"  asked  Schwartz. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know.  But  somewheres  between 
three  and  five  hundred  miles,  at  a  guess." 

At  that  he  fell  to  glowering  and  glooming  with 
himself,  brooding  over  what  a  hard  time  it  was  going 
to  be.  That  is  the  way  with  a  German.  First  off 
he's  plumb  scared  at  the  prospect  of  suffering  any 
thing,  and  would  rather  die  right  off  than  take  long 
chances.  After  he  gets  into  the  swing  of  it,  he 
behaves  as  well  as  any  man. 

We  took  stock  of  what  we  had  to  depend  on.  The 
total  assets  proved  to  be  just  three  pairs  of  legs. 
A  pot  of  coffee  had  been  on  the  fire,  but  that  villain 
had  kicked  it  over  when  he  left.  The  kettle  of  beans 
was  there,  but  somehow  we  got  the  notion  they  might 
have  been  poisoned,  so  we  left  them.  I  don't  know 


192  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

now  why  we  were  so  foolish — if  poison  was  his  game, 
he'd  have  tried  it  before — but  at  that  time  it  seemed 
reasonable  enough.  Perhaps  the  horror  of  the  morn 
ing's  work,  and  the  sight  of  the  brittle-brown 
mountains,  and  the  ghastly  yellow  glare  of  the  sun, 
and  the  blue  waves  racing  by  outside,  and  the  big 
strong  wind  that  blew  through  us  so  hard  that  it 
seemed  to  blow  empty  our  souls,  had  turned  our 
judgment.  Anyway,  we  left  a  full  meal  there  in  the 
fceanpot. 

So  without  any  further  delay  we  set  off  up  the 
ridge  I  had  started  to  cross  that  morning.  Schwartz 
lagged,  sulky  as  a  muley  cow,  but  we  managed  to 
keep  him  with  us.  At  the  top  of  the  ridge  we  took 
our  bearings  for  the  next  deep  bay.  Already  we  had 
made  up  our  minds  to  stick  to  the  sea-coast,  both 
on  account  of  the  lower  country  over  which  to  travel 
and  the  off  chance  of  falling  in  with  a  fishing  vessel. 
Schwartz  muttered  something  about  its  being  too 
far  even  to  the  next  bay,  and  wanted  to  sit  down  on 
a  rock.  Denton  didn't  say  anything,  but  he  jerked 
Schwartz  up  by  the  collar  so  fiercely  that  the  Ger 
man  gave  it  over  and  came  along. 

We  dropped  down  into  the  gully,  stumbled  ove? 


BURIED     TREASURE  193 

the  boulder  wash,  and  began  to  toil  in  the  ankle- 
deep  sand  of  a  little  sage-brush  flat  this  side  of  the 
next  ascent.  Schwartz  followed  steadily  enough  now, 
but  had  fallen  forty  or  fifty  feet  behind.  This  was 
a  nuisance,  as  we  had  to  keep  turning  to  see  if  he  still 
kept  up.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  disappear. 

Denton  and  I  hurried  back  to  find  him  on  his  hands 
and  knees  behind  a  sage-brush,  clawing  away  at  the 
sand  like  mad. 

"  Can't  be  water  on  this  flat,"  said  Denton ;  "  he 
must  have  gone  crazy." 

"What's  the  matter,  Schwartz?"  I  asked. 

For  answer  he  moved  a  little  to  one  side,  showing 
beneath  his  knee  one  corner  of  a  wooden  box  stick 
ing  above  the  sand. 

At  this  we  dropped  beside  him,  and  in  five  minutes 
had  uncovered  the  whole  of  the  chest.  It  was  not 
very  large,  and  was  locked.  A  rock  from  the  wash 
fixed  that,  however.  We  threw  back  the  lid. 

It  was  full  to  the  brim  of  gold  coins,  thrown  in 
loose,  nigh  two  bushels  of  them. 

"  The  treasure !  "  I  cried. 

There  it  was,  sure  enough,  or  some  of  it.  We 
looked  the  chest  through,  but  found  nothing  but 


194  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  gold  coins.  The  altar  ornaments  and  jewels  were 
lacking. 

"  Probably  buried  in  another  box  or  so,"  said 
Denton. 

Schwartz  wanted  to  dig  around  a  little. 

\ 

"  No  good,"  said  I.  "  We've  got  our  work  cut 
out  for  us  as  it  is." 

Denton  backed  me  up.  We  were  both  old  hands 
at  the  business,  had  each  in  our  time  suffered  the 
"  cotton-mouth  "  thirst,  and  the  memory  of  it  out 
weighed  any  desire  for  treasure. 

But  Schwartz  was  money-mad.  Left  to  himself  he 
would  have  staid  on  that  sand  flat  to  perish,  as  cer 
tainly  as  had  poor  Billy.  We  had  fairly  to  force  him 
away,  and  then  succeeded  only  because  we  let  him 
fill  all  his  pockets  to  bulging  with  the  coins.  As  we 
moved  up  the  next  rise,  he  kept  looking  back  and 
uttering  little  moans  against  the  crime  of  leaving  it. 

Luckily  for  us  it  was  winter.  We  shouldn't  have 
lasted  six  hours  at  this  time  of  year.  As  it  was,  the 
sun  was  hot  against  the  shale  and  the  little  stones 
of  those  cussed  hills.  We  plodded  along  until  late 
afternoon,  toiling  up  one  hill  and  down  another,  only 
to  repeat  immediately.  Towards  sundown  we  made 


BURIED     TREASURE  195 

the  second  bay,  where  we  plunged  into  the  sea,  clothes 
and  all,  and  were  greatly  refreshed.  I  suppose  a  man 
absorbs  a  good  deal  that  way.  Anyhow,  it  always 
seemed  to  help. 

We  were  now  pretty  hungry,  and,  as  we  walked 
along  the  shore,  we  began  to  look  for  turtles  or  shell 
fish,  or  anything  else  that  might  come  handy.  There 
was  nothing.  Schwartz  wanted  to  stop  for  a  night's 
rest,  but  Denton  and  I  knew  better  than  that. 

"  Look  here,  Schwartz,,"  said  Denton,  "  you  don't 
realise  you're  entered  against  time  in  this  race — and 
that  you're  a  damn  fool  to  carrv  all  that  weight  in 
your  clothes." 

So  we  dragged  along  all  night. 

It  was  weird  enough,  I  can  tell  you.  The  moon 
shone  cold  and  white  over  that  dead,  drv  Country. 
Hot  whiffs  rose  from  the  baked  stones  and  nillsides. 
Shadows  lay  under  the  stones  like  animals  crouch 
ing.  When  we  came  to  the  edge  of  a  silvery  hill  we 
dropped  off  into  pitchy  blackness.  There  we  stum 
bled  over  boulders  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  began  to 
climb  the  steep  shale  on  the  other  side.  This  was 
fearful  work.  The  top  seemed  always  miles  away. 
By  morning  we  didn't  seem  to  have  made  much  of 


196  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

anywhere.  The  same  old  hollow-looking  mountains 
with  the  sharp  edges  stuck  up  in  about  the  same  old 
places. 

We  had  got  over  being  very  hungry,  and,  though 
we  were  pretty  dry,  we  didn't  really  suffer  yet  from 
thirst.  About  this  time  Denton  ran  across  some  fish 
hook  cactus,  which  we  cut  up  and  chewed.  They  have 
a  sticky  wet  sort  of  inside,  which  doesn't  quench  your 
thirst  any,  but  helps  to  keep  you  from  drying  up 
and  blowing  away. 

All  that  day  we  plugged  along  as  per  usual.  It 
was  main  hard  work,  and  we  got  to  that  state  where 
things  are  disagreeable,  but  mechanical.  Strange  to 
say,  Schwartz  kept  in  the  lead.  It  seemed  to  me  at 
the  time  that  he  was  using  more  energy  than  the 
occasion  called  for — just  as  man  runs  faster  before 
he  comes  to  the  giving-out  point.  However,  the  hours 
went  by,  and  he  didn't  seem  to  get  any  more  tired 
than  the  rest  of  us. 

We  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  anything  to  eat,  but 
there  was  nothing  but  lizards  and  horned  toads. 
Later  we'd  have  been  glad  of  them,  but  by  that  time 
we'd  got  out  of  their  district.  Night  came.  Just 
at  sundown  we  took  another  wallow  in  the  surf,  and 


BURIED     TREASURE  197 

chewed  some  more  fishhook  cactus.  When  the  moon 
came  up  we  went  on. 

I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  how  dead  beat  we  got. 
We  were  pretty  tough  and  strong,  for  all  of  us  had 
been  used  to  hard  living,  but  after  the  third  day 
without  anything  to  eat  and  no  water  to  drink,  it 
came  to  be  pretty  hard  going.  It  got  to  the  point 
where  we  had  to  have  some  reason  for  getting  out 
besides  just  keeping  alive.  A  man  would  sometimes 
rather  die  than  keep  alive,  anyway,  if  it  came  only 
to  that.  But  I  know  I  made  up  my  mind  I  was  going 
to  get  out  so  I  could  smash  up  that  Anderson,  and 
I  reckon  Denton  had  the  same  idea.  Schwartz  didn't 
say  anything,  but  he  pumped  on  ahead  of  us,  his 
back  bent  over  and  his  clothes  sagging  and  bulging 
with  the  gold  he  carried. 

We  used  to  travel  all  night,  because  it  was  cool, 
and  rest  an  hour  or  two  at  noon.  That  is  all  the  rest 
we  did  get.  I  don't  know  how  fast  we  went ;  I'd  got 
beyond  that.  We  must  have  crawled  along  mighty 
slow,  though,  after  our  first  strength  gave  out.  The 
way  I  used  to  do  was  to  collect  myself  with  an  effort, 
look  around  for  my  bearings,  pick  out  a  landmark 
a  little  distance  off,  and  forget  everything  but  it. 


198  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

Then  I'd  plod  along,  knowing  nothing  but  the  sand 
and  shale  and  slope  under  my  feet,  until  I'd  reached 
that  landmark.  Then  I'd  clear  my  mind  and  pick 
out  another. 

But  I  couldn't  shut  out  the  figure  of  Schwartz 
that  way.  He  used  to  walk  along  just  ahead  of  my 
shoulder.  His  face  was  all  twisted  up,  but  I  remem 
ber  thinking  at  the  time  it  looked  more  as  if  he  was 
worried  in  his  mind  than  like  bodily  suffering.  The 
weight  of  the  gold  in  his  clothes  bent  his  shoulders 
over. 

As  we  went  on  the  country  gradually  got  to  be 
more  mountainous,  and,  as  we  were  steadily  growing 
weaker,  it  did  seem  things  were  piling  up  on  us. 
The  eighth  day  we  ran  out  of  the  fishhook  cactus, 
and,  being  on  a  high  promontory,  were  out  of  touch 
with  the  sea.  For  the  first  time  my  tongue  began 
to  swell  a  little.  The  cactus  had  kept  me  from  that 
before.  Denton  must  have  been  in  the  same  fix,  for 
he  looked  at  me  and  raised  one  eyebrow  kind  of 
humorous. 

Schwartz  was  having  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  to 
navigate.  I  will  say  for  him  that  he  had  done  well, 
but  now  I  could  see  that  his  strength  was  going 


BURIED     TREASURE  199 

on  him  in  spite  of  himself.  He  knew  it,  all  right,  for 
when  we  rested  that  day  he  took  all  the  gold  coins 
and  spread  them  in  a  row,  and  counted  them,  and 
put  them  back  in  his  pocket,  and  then  all  of  a  sud 
den  snatched  out  two  handfuls  and  threw  them  as 
far  as  he  could. 

"  Too  heavy,"  he  muttered,  but  that  was  all  he 
could  bring  himself  to  throw  away. 

All  that  night  we  wandered  high  in  the  air.  I  guess 
we  tried  to  keep  a  general  direction,  but  I  don't 
know.  Anyway,  along  late,  but  before  moonrise — 
she  was  now  on  the  wane — I  came  to,  and  found  my 
self  looking  over  the  edge  of  a  twenty-foot  drop. 
Right  below  me  I  made  out  a  faint  glimmer  of  white 
earth  in  the  starlight.  Somehow  it  reminded  me  of 
a  little  trail  I  used  to  know  under  a  big  rock  back 
in  Texas. 

"  Here's  a  trail,"  I  thought,  more  than  half  loco ; 
"I'll  follow  it!" 

At  least  that's  what  half  of  me  thought.  The 
other  half  was  sensible,  and  knew  better,  but  it 
seemed  to  be  kind  of  standing  to  one  side,  a  little 
scornful,  watching  the  performance.  So  I  slid  and 
slipped  down  to  the  strip  of  white  earth,  and,  sure 


200  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

enough,  it  was  a  trail.  At  that  the  loco  half  of  me 
gave  the  sensible  part  the  laugh.  I  followed  the 
path  twenty  feet  and  came  to  a  dark  hollow  under  the 
rock,  and  in  it  a  round  pool  of  water  about  a  foot 
across.  They  say  a  man  kills  himself  drinking  toe 
much,  after  starving  for  water.  That  may  be,  but 
it  didn't  kill  me,  and  I  sucked  up  all  I  could  hold. 
Perhaps  the  fishhook  cactus  had  helped.  Well,  sir, 
it  was  surprising  how  that  drink  brought  me  around. 
A  minute  before  I'd  been  on  the  edge  of  going 
plumb  loco,  and  here  I  was  as  clear-headed  as  a 
lawyer. 

I  hunted  up  Denton  and  Schwartz.  They  drank 
themselves  full,  too.  Then  we  rested.  It  was  mighty 
hard  to  leave  that  spring 

Oh,  we  had  to  do  it.  We'd  have  starved  sure,  there. 
The  trail  was  a  game  trail,  but  that  did  us  no  good, 
for  we  had  no  weapons.  How  we  did  wish  for  the 
coffeepot,  so  we  could  take  some  away.  We  filled  our 
hats,  and  carried  them  about  three  hours,  before  the 
water  began  to  soak  through.  Then  we  had  to  drink 
it  in  order  to  save  it. 

The  country  fairly  stood  up  on  end.  We  had  to 
climb  separate  little  hills  so  as  to  avoid  rolling 


BURIED     TREASURE  201 

rocks  down  on  each  other.  It  took  it  out  of  us. 
About  this  time  we  began  to  see  mountain  sheep. 
They  would  come  right  up  to  the  edges  of  the  small 
cliffs  to  look  at  us.  We  threw  stones  at  them,  hoping 
to  hit  one  in  the  forehead,  but  of  course  without  any 
results. 

The  good  effects  of  the  water  lasted  us  about  a 
day.  Then  we  began  to  see  things  again.  Off  and 
on  I  could  see  water  plain  as  could  be  in  every  hol 
low,  and  game  of  all  kinds  standing  around  and 
looking  at  me.  I  knew  these  were  all  fakes.  By 
making  an  effort  I  could  swing  things  around  to 
where  they  belonged.  I  used  to  do  that  every  once 
in  a  while,  just  to  be  sure  we  weren't  doubling  back, 
and  to  look  out  for  real  water.  But  most  of  the 
time  it  didn't  seem  to  be  worth  while.  I  just  let  all 
these  visions  riot  around  and  have  a  good  time  inside 
me  or  outside  me,  whichever  it  was.  I  knew  I  could 
get  rid  of  them  any  minute.  Most  of  the  time,  if 
I  was  in  any  doubt,  it  was  easier  to  throw  a  stone 
to  see  if  the  animals  were  real  or  not.  The  real  ones 
ran  away. 

We  began  to  see  bands  of  wild  horses  in  the  up 
lands.  One  day  both  Denton  and  I  plainly  saw  one 


202  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

with  saddle  marks  on  him.  If  only  one  of  us  had 
seen  him,  it  wouldn't  have  counted  much,  but  we 
both  made  him  out.  This  encouraged  us  wonderfully, 
though  I  don't  see  why  it  should  have.  We  had 
topped  the  high  country,  too,  and  had  started  down 
the  other  side  of  the  mountains  that  ran  out  on  the 
promontory.  Denton  and  I  were  still  navigating  with 
out  any  thought  of  giving  up,  but  Schwartz  was 
getting  in  bad  shape.  I'd  hate  to  pack  twenty  pounds 
over  that  country  even  with  rest,  food,  and  water. 
He  was  toting  it  on  nothing.  We  told  him  so,  and 
he  came  to  see  it,  but  he  never  could  persuade  him 
self  to  get  rid  of  the  gold  all  at  once.  Instead  he 
threw  away  the  pieces  one  by  one.  Each  sacrifice 
seemed  to  nerve  him  up  for  another  heat.  I  can 
shut  my  eyes  and  see  it  now — the  wide,  glaring,  yel 
low  country,  the  pasteboard  mountains,  we  three 
dragging  along,  and  the  fierce  sunshine  flashing  from 
the  doubloons  as  one  by  one  they  went  spinning 
through  the  air. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE    CHEWED    SUGAR    CANE 

"  I'D  like  to  have  trailed  you  fellows,"  sighed  a  voice 
from  the  corner. 

"  Would  you !  "  said  Colorado  Rogers  grimly. 

It  was  five  days  to  the  next  water.  But  they  were 
worse  than  the  eight  days  before.  We  were  lucky, 
however,  for  at  the  spring  we  discovered  in  a  deep 
wash  near  the  coast,  was  the  dried-up  skull  of  a 
horse.  It  had  been  there  a  long  time,  but  a  few 
shreds  of  dried  flesh  still  clung  to  it.  It  was  the 
only  thing  that  could  be  described  as  food  that  had 
passed  our  lips  since  breakfast  thirteen  days  before. 
In  that  time  we  had  crossed  the  mountain  chain,  and 
had  come  again  to  the  sea.  The  Lord  was  good  to 
us.  He  sent  us  the  water,  and  the  horse's  skull,  and 
the  smooth  hard  beach,  without  breaks  or  the  neces 
sity  of  climbing  hills.  And  we  needed  it,  oh,  I  prom 
ise  you,  we  needed  it! 

203 


204  ARIZONA     N  I  G  H  1  S 

I  doubt  if  any  of  us  could  have  kept  the  direction 
except  by  such  an  obvious  and  continuous  landmark 
as  the  sea  to  our  left.  It  hardly  seemed  worth  while 
to  focus  my  mind,  but  I  did  it  occasionally  just  by 
way  of  testing  myself.  Schwartz  still  threw  away 
his  gold  coins,  and  once,  in  one  of  my  rare  intervals 
of  looking  about  me,  I  saw  Denton  picking  them  up. 
This  surprised  me  mildly,  but  I  was  too  tired  to  be 
very  curious.  Only  now,  when  I  saw  Schwartz's  arm 
sweep  out  in  what  had  become  a  mechanical  move 
ment,  I  always  took  pains  to  look,  and  always  I  saw 
Denton  search  for  the  coin.  Sometimes  he  found  it, 
and  sometimes  he  did  not. 

The  figures  of  my  companions  and  the  yellow- 
brown  tide  sand  under  my  feet,  and  a  consciousness 
of  the  blue  and  white  sea  to  my  left,  are  all  I  re 
member,  except  when  we  had  to  pull  ourselves  to 
gether  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  fishhook  cactus.  I 
kept  going,  and  I  knew  I  had  a  good  reason  for 
doing  so,  but  it  seemed  too  much  of  an  effort  to 
recall  what  that  reason  was. 

Schwartz  threw  away  a  gold  piece  as  another 
man  would  take  a  stimulant.  Gradually,  without 
really  thinking  about  it,  I  came  to  see  this,  and  then 


THE  CHEWED  SUGAR  CANE  205 
went  on  to  sabe  why  Denton  picked  up  the  coins ; 
and  a  great  admiration  for  Denton's  cleverness 
seeped  through  me  like  water  through  the  sand.  He 
was  saving  the  coins  to  keep  Schwartz  going.  When 
the  last  coin  went,  Schwartz  would  give  out.  It  all 
sounds  queer  now,  but  it  seemed  all  right  then — and 
it  was  all  right,  too. 

So  we  walked  on  the  beach,  losing  entire  track 
of  time.  And  after  a  long  interval  I  came  to  myself 
to  see  Schwartz  lying  on  the  sand,  and  Denton  stand 
ing  over  him.  Of  course  we'd  all  been  falling  down 
a  lot,  but  always  before  we'd  got  up  again. 

"  He's  give  out,"  croaked  Denton. 

His  voice  sounded  as  if  it  was  miles  away,  which 
surprised  me,  but,  when  I  answered,  mine  sounded 
miles  away,  too,  which  surprised  me  still  more. 

Denton  pulled  out  a  handful  of  gold  coins. 

"This  will  buy  him  some  more  walk,"  said  he 
gravely,  "  but  not  much." 

I  nodded.  It  seemed  all  right,  this  new,  strange 
purchasing  power  of  gold — it  was  all  right,  by  God, 
and  as  real  as  buying  bricks 

"  I'll  go  on,"  said  Denton,  "  and  send  back  help. 
You  come  after." 


206  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

"  To  Mollyhay,"  said  I. 

This  far  I  reckon  we'd  hung  onto  ourselves  be 
cause  it  was  serious.  Now  I  began  to  laugh.  So  did 
Denton.  We  laughed  and  laughed. 

"  A   damn   long  way 
To  Mollyhay," 

said  I.  Then  we  laughed  some  more,  until  the  tears 
ran  down  our  cheeks,  and  we  had  to  hold  our  poor 
weak  sides.  Pretty  soon  we  fetched  up  with  a  gasp. 

"  A  damn  long  way 
To  Mollyhay," 

whispered  Denton,  and  then  off  we  went  into  more 
shrieks.  And  when  we  would  sober  down  a  little,  one 
or  the  other  of  us  would  say  it  again ; 

"  A   damn  long  way 
To  Mollyhay," 

and  then  we'd  laugh  some  more.  It  must  have  been 
a  sweet  sight! 

At  last  I  realised  that  we  ought  to  pull  ourselves 
together,  so  I  snubbed  up  short,  and  Denton  did 
the  same,  and  we  set  to  laying  plans.  But  every 


THE     CHEWED     SUGAR     CANE   207 

minute  or  so  one  of  us  would  catch  on  some  word, 
and  then  we'd  trail  off  into  rhymes  and  laughter  and 
repetition. 

"  Keep  him  going  as  long  as  you  can,"  said  Den- 
ton. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  be  sure  to  stick  to  the  beach." 

That  far  it  was  all  right  and  clear-headed.  But 
the  word  "  beach  "  let  us  out. 

**  I'm  a  peach 
Upon  the  beach," 

sings  I,  and  there  we  were  both  off  again  until  one 
or  the  other  managed  to  grope  his  way  back  to 
common  sense  again.  And  sometimes  we  crow-hopped 
solemnly  around  and  around  the  prostrate  Schwartz 
like  a  pair  of  In j  ins. 

But  somehow  we  got  our  plan  laid  at  last,  slipped 
the  coins  into  Schwartz's  pocket,  and  said  good-bye. 

"  Old  socks,  good-bye, 
You  bet  I'll  try," 

yelled  Denton,  and  laughing  fit  to  kill,  danced  off 
up  the  beach,  and  out  into  a  sort  of  grey  mist  that 


208  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

shut  off  everything  beyond  a  certain  distance  from 
me  now. 

So  I  kicked  Schwartz,  he  felt  in  his  pocket,  threw 
a  gold  piece  away,  and  "  bought  a  little  more  walk." 

My  entire  vision  was  fifty  feet  or  so  across.  Beyond 
that  was  grey  mist.  Inside  my  circle  I  could  see 
the  sand  quite  plainly  and  Denton's  footprints.  If 
I  moved  a  little  to  the  left,  the  wash  of  the  waters 
would  lap  under  the  edge  of  that  grey  curtain.  If 
I  moved  to  the  right,  I  came  to  cliffs.  The  nearer  I 
drew  to  them,  the  farther  up  I  could  see,  but  I  could 
never  see  to  the  top.  It  used  to  amuse  me  to  move 
this  area  of  consciousness  about  to  see  what  I  could 
find.  Actual  physical  suffering  was  beginning  to  dull, 
and  my  head  seemed  to  be  getting  clearer. 

One  day,  without  any  apparent  reason,  I  moved 
at  right  angles  across  the  beach.  Directly  before  me 
lay  a  piece  of  sugar  cane,  and  one  end  of  it  had  been 
chewed. 

Do  you  know  what  that  meant?  Animals  don't  cut 
sugar  cane  and  bring  it  to  the  beach  and  chew  one 
end.  A  new  strength  ran  through  me,  and  actually 
the  grey  mist  thinned  and  lifted  for  a  moment,  until 


THE     CHEWED     SUGAR     CANE    209 

could  make  out  dimly  the  line  of  cliffs  and  the 
tumbling  sea. 

I  was  not  a  bit  hungry,  but  I  chewed  on  the  sugar 
cane,  and  made  Schwartz  do  the  same.  When  we  went 
on  I  kept  close  to  the  cliff,  even  though  the  walking 
was  somewhat  heavier. 

I  remember  after  that  its  getting  dark  and  then 
light  again,  so  the  night  must  have  passed,  but 
whether  we  rested  or  walked  I  do  not  know.  Probably 
we  did  not  get  very  far,  though  certainly  we  stag 
gered  ahead  after  sun-up,  for  I  remember  my 
shadow. 

About  midday,  I  suppose,  I  made  out  a  dim  trail 
leading  up  a  break  in  the  cliffs.  Plenty  of  such 
trails  we  had  seen  before.  They  were  generally  made 
by  peccaries  in  search  of  cast-up  fish — I  hope  they 
had  better  luck  than  we. 

But  in  the  middle  of  this,  as  though  for  a  sign, 
lay  another  piece  of  chewed  sugar  cane. 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

THE    CALABASH    STEW 

I  HAD  agreed  with  Denton  to  stick  to  the  beach,  but 
Schwartz  could  not  last  much  longer,  and  I  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  how  far  it  might  prove  to  be  to 
Mollyhay.  So  I  turned  up  the  trail. 

We  climbed  a  mountain  ten  thousand  feet  high.  I 
mean  that;  and  I  know,  for  I've  climbed  them  that 
high,  and  I  know  just  how  it  feels,  and  how  many 
times  you  have  to  rest,  and  how  long  it  takes,  and 
how  much  it  knocks  out  of  you.  Those  are  the  things 
that  count  in  measuring  height,  and  so  I  tell  you  we 
climbed  that  far.  Actually  I  suppose  the  hill  was 
a  couple  of  hundred  feet,  if  not  less.  But  on  account 
of  the  grey  mist  I  mentioned,  I  could  not  see  the 
top,  and  the  illusion  was  complete. 

We  reached  the  summit  late  in  the  afternoon,  for 
the  sun  was  square  in  our  eyes.  But  instead  of 
blinding  me,  it  seemed  to  clear  my  sight,  so  that  I 
saw  below  me  a  little  mud  hut  with  smoke  rising 
behind  it,  and  a  small  patch  of  cultivated  ground. 

210 


THE     CALABASH     STEW 

I'll  pass  over  how  I  felt  about  it:  they  haven't 
made  the  words 

Well,  we  stumbled  down  the  trail  and  into  the 
hut.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  empty,  but  after  a 
minute  I  saw  a  very  old  man  crouched  in  a  corner. 
As  I  looked  at  him  he  raised  his  bleared  eyes  to  me, 
his  head  swinging  slowly  from  side  to  side  as  though 
with  a  kind  of  palsy.  He  could  not  see  me,  that  was 
evident,  nor  hear  me,  but  some  instinct  not  yet  de 
cayed  turned  him  toward  a  new  presence  in  the  room. 
In  my  wild  desire  for  water  I  found  room  to  think 
that  here  was  a  man  even  worse  off  than  myself. 

A  vessel  of  water  was  in  the  corner.  I  drank  it. 
It  was  more  than  I  could  hold,  but  I  drank  even 
after  I  was  filled,  and  the  waste  ran  from  the  cor 
ners  of  my  mouth.  I  had  forgotten  Schwartz.  The 
excess  made  me  a  little  sick,  but  I  held  down  what 
I  had  .swallowed,  and  I  really  believe  it  soaked  into 
my  system  as  it  does  into  the  desert  earth  after  a 
drought. 

In  a  moment  or  so  I  took  the  vessel  and  filled  it 
and  gave  it  to  Schwartz.  Then  it  seemed  to  me  that 
my  responsibility  had  ended.  A  sudden  great  dreamy 
lassitude  came  over  me.  I  knew  I  needed  food,  but 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

I  had  no  wish  for  it,  and  no  ambition  to  search  it 
out.  The  man  in  the  corner  mumbled  at  me  with  his 
toothless  gums.  I  remember  wondering  if  we  were 
all  to  starve  there  peacefully  together — Schwartz 
and  his  remaining  gold  coins,  the  man  far  gone  in 
years,  and  myself.  I  did  not  greatly  care. 

After  a  while  the  light  was  blotted  out.  There 
followed  a  slight  pause.  Then  I  knew  that  someone 
had  flown  to  my  side,  and  was  kneeling  beside  me 
and  saying  liquid,  pitying  things  in  Mexican.  I 
swallowed  something  hot  and  strong.  In  a  moment 
I  came  back  from  wherever  I  was  drifting,  to  look 
up  at  a  Mexican  girl  about  twenty  years  old. 

She  was  no  great  matter  in  looks,  but  she  seemed 
like  an  angel  to  me  then.  And  she  had  sense.  No 
questions,  no  nothing.  Just  business.  The  only  thing 
she  asked  of  me  was  if  I  understood  Spanish. 

Then  she  told  me  that  her  brother  would  be  back 
soon,  that  they  were  very  poor,  that  she  was  sorry 
she  had  no  meat  to  offer  me,  that  they  were  very 
poor,  that  all  they  had  was  calabash — a  sort  of 
squash.  All  this  time  she  was  hustling  things  to 
gether.  Next  thing  I  knew  I  had  a  big  bowl  of 
calabash  stew  between  my  knees. 

Now,  strangely  enough,  I  had  no  great  interest 


THE     CALABASH     STEW       213 

in  that  calabash  stew.  I  tasted  it,  sat  and  thought 
a  while,  and  tasted  it  again.  By  and  by  I  had  emptied 
the  bowl.  It  was  getting  dark.  I  was  very  sleepy.  A 
man  came  in,  but  I  was  too  drowsy  to  pay  any  at 
tention  to  him.  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  Then 
I  was  picked  up  bodily  and  carried  to  an  out-build 
ing  and  laid  on  a  pile  of  skins.  I  felt  the  weight  of 
a  blanket  thrown  over  me 

I  awoke  in  the  night.  Mind  you,  I  had  practically 
had  no  rest  at  all  for  a  matter  of  more  than  two 
weeks,  yet  I  woke  in  a  few  hours.  And,  remember, 
even  in  eating  the  calabash  stew  I  had  felt  no  hunger 
in  spite  of  my  long  fast.  But  now  I  found  myself 
ravenous.  You  boys  do  not  know  what  hunger  is. 
It  hurts.  And  all  the  rest  of  that  night  I  lay  awake 
chewing  on  the  rawhide  of  a  pack-saddle  that  hung 
near  me. 

Next  morning  the  young  Mexican  and  his  sister 
came  to  us  early,  bringing  more  calabash  stew.  I  fell 
on  it  like  a  wild  animal,  and  just  wallowed  in  it,  so 
eager  was  I  to  eat.  They  stood  and  watched  me — 
and  I  suppose  Schwartz,  too,  though  I  had  now- 
lost  interest  in  anyone  but  myself — glancing  at 
each  other  in  pity  from  time  to  time. 

When  I  had  finished    the  man  told  me  that  they 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

had  decided  to  kill  a  beef  so  we  could  have  meat. 
They  were  very  poor,  but  God  had  brought  us  to 
them 

I  appreciated  this  afterward.  At  the  time  I  merely 
caught  at  the  word  "  meat."  It  seemed  to  me  I  could 
have  eaten  the  animal  entire,  hide,  hoofs,  and  tallow. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  mighty  lucky  they  didn't 
have  any  meat.  If  they  had,  we'd  probably  have 
killed  ourselves  with  it.  I  suppose  the  calabash  was 
about  the  best  thing  for  us  under  the  circum 
stances. 

The  Mexican  went  out  to  hunt  up  his  horse.  I 
called  the  girl  back. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Mollyhay?"  I  asked  her. 

"  A  league,"  said  she. 

So  we  had  been  near  our  journey's  end  after  all, 
and  Denton  was  probably  all  right. 

The  Mexican  went  away  horseback.  The  girl  fed 
us  calabash.  We  waited. 

About  one  o'clock  a  group  of  horsemen  rode  over 
the  hill.  When  they  came  near  enough  I  recognised 
Denton  at  their  head.  That  man  was  of  tempered 
steel 

They  had  followed  back  along  the  beach,  caught 


THE     CALABASH     STEW       215 

our  trail  where  we  had  turned  off,  and  so  discovered 
us.  Denton  had  fortunately  found  kind  and  intelli 
gent  people. 

We  said  good-bye  to  the  Mexican  girl.  I  made 
Schwartz  give  her  one  of  his  gold  pieces. 

But  Denton  could  not  wait  for  us  to  say  "  hullo  " 
even,  he  was  so  anxious  to  get  back  to  town,  so  we 
mounted  the  horses  he  had  brought  us,  and  rode  off, 
very  wobbly. 

We  lived  three  weeks  in  Mollyhay.  It  took  us 
that  long  to  get  fed  up.  The  lady  I  stayed  with  made 
a  dish  of  kid  meat  and  stuffed  olives 

Why,  an  hour  after  filling  myself  up  to  the  muzzle 
I'd  be  hungry  again,  and  scouting  round  to  houses 
looking  for  more  to  eat! 

We  talked  things  over  a  good  deal,  after  we  had 
gained  a  little  strength.  I  wanted  to  take  a  little 
flyer  at  Guaymas  to  see  if  I  could  run  across  this 
Handy  Solomon  person,  but  Denton  pointed  out  that 
Anderson  would  be  expecting  just  that,  and  would 
take  mighty  good  care  to  be  scarce.  His  idea  was 
that  we'd  do  better  to  get  hold  of  a  boat  and  some 
water  casks,  and  lug  off  the  treasure  we  had  stum 
bled  over.  Denton  told  us  that  the  idea  of  going 


216  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

back  and  scooping  all  that  dinero  up  with  a  shovel 
had  kept  him  going,  just  as  the  idea  of  getting  even 
with  Anderson  had  kept  me  going.  Schwartz  said 
that  after  he'd  carried  that  heavy  gold  over  the 
first  day,  he  made  up  his  mind  he'd  get  the  spend 
ing  of  it  or  bust.  That's  why  he  hated  so  to  throw 
it  away. 

There  were  lots  of  fishing  boats  in  the  harbour, 
and  we  hired  one,  and  a  man  to  run  it  for  next  to 
nothing  a  week.  We  laid  a  course  north,  and  in  six 
days  anchored  in  our  bay. 

I  tell  you  it  looked  queer.  There  were  the  charred 
sticks  of  the  fire,  and  the  coffeepot  lying  on  its  side. 
We  took  off  our  hats  at  poor  Billy's  grave  a  minute, 
and  then  climbed  over  the  c^oZZa-covered  hill  carry 
ing  our  picks  and  shovels,  and  the  canvas  sacks  to 
take  the  treasure  away  in. 

There  was  no  trouble  in  reaching  the  sandy  flat. 
But  when  we  got  there  we  found  it  torn  up  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  A  few  scattered  timbers  and 
three  empty  chests  with  the  covers  pried  off  alone 
remained.  Handy  Solomon  had  been  there  before  us. 

We  went  back  to  our  boat  sick  at  heart.  Nobody 
said  a  word.  We  went  aboard  and  made  our  Greaser 


THE     CALABASH     STEW       217 

boatman  head  for  Yuma.  It  took  us  a  week  to  get 
there.  We  were  all  of  us  glum,  but  Denton  was  the 
worst  of  the  lot.  Even  after  we'd  got  back  to  town 
and  fallen  into  our  old  ways  of  life,  he  couldn't  seem 
to  get  over  it.  He  seemed  plumb  possessed  of  gloom, 
and  moped  around  like  a  chicken  with  the  pip.  This 
surprised  me,  for  I  didn't  think  the  loss  of  money 
would  hit  him  so  hard.  It  didn't  hit  any  of  us  very 
hard  in  those  days. 

One  evening  I  took  him  aside  and  fed  him  a  drink, 
and  expostulated  with  him. 

"  Oh,  hell,  Rogers,"  he  burst  out,  "  I  don't  care 
about  the  loot.  But,  suffering  cats,  think  how  that 
fellow  sized  us  up  for  a  lot  of  pattern-made  fools; 
and  how  right  he  was  about  it.  Why  all  he  did  was 
to  sail  out  of  sight  around  the  next  corner.  He 
knew  we'd  start  across  country;  and  we  did.  All 
we  had  to  do  was  to  lay  low,  and  save  our  legs.  He 
was  bound  to  come  back.  And  we  might  have  nailed 
him  when  he  landed." 

"  That's  about  all  there  was  to  it,"  concluded 
Colorado  Rogers,  after  a  pause,  "  — except  that  I've 
been  looking  for  him  ever  since,  and  when  I  heard 


218  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

you  singing  that  song  I  naturally  thought  I'd 
landed." 

"  And  you  never  saw  him  again  ?  "  asked  Windy 
Bill. 

"  Well,"  chuckled  Rogers,  "  I  did  about  ten  year 
later.  It  was  in  Tucson.  I  was  in  the  back  of  a 
store,  when  the  door  in  front  opened  and  this  man 
came  in.  He  stopped  at  the  little  cigar-case  by  the 
door.  In  about  one  jump  I  was  on  his  neck.  I  jerked 
him  over  backwards  before  he  knew  what  had  struck 

9> 

him,  threw  him  on  his  face,  got  my  hands  in  his 
back-hair,  and  began  to  jump  his  features  against 
the  floor.  Then  all  at  once  I  noted  that  this  man 
had  two  arms;  so  of  course  he  was  the  wrong 
fellow.  "  Oh,  excuse  me,"  said  I,  and  ran  out  the 
back  door." 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

THE    HONK-HONK   BREED 

IT  was  Sunday  at  the  ranch.  For  a  wonder  the 
weather  had  been  favourable;  the  windmills  were  all 
working,  the  bogs  had  dried  up,  the  beef  had  lasted 
over,  the  remuda  had  not  strayed — in  short,  there 
was  nothing  to  do.  Sang  had  given  us  a  baked 
bread-pudding  with  raisins  in  it.  We  filled  it  in — a 
wash  basin  full  of  it — on  top  of  a  few  incidental 
pounds  of  chile  con,  baked  beans,  soda  biscuits, 
"  air  tights,"  and  other  delicacies.  Then  we  ad 
journed  with  our  pipes  to  the  shady  side  of  the 
blacksmith's  shop  where  we  could  watch  the  ravens 
on  top  the  adobe  wall  of  the  corral.  Somebody  told 
a  story  about  ravens.  This  led  to  road-runners. 
This  suggested  rattlesnakes.  They  started  Windy 
Bill. 

"  Speakin'  of  snakes,"  said  Windy,  "  I  mind  when 
they  catched  the  great-granddaddy  of  all  the  bull- 
snakes  up  at  Lead  in  the  Black  Hills.  I  was  only 
a  kid  then.  This  wasn't  no  such  tur'ble  long  a  snake, 
but  he  was  more'n  a  foot  thick.  Looked  just  like 

219 


ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

a  sahuaro  stalk.  Man  name  of  Terwilliger  Smith 
catched  it.  He  named  this  yere  bullsnake  Clarence, 
and  got  it  so  plumb  gentle  it  followed  him  every 
where.  One  day  old  P.  T.  Barnum  come  along  and 
wanted  to  buy  this  Clarence  snake — offered  Ter 
williger  a  thousand  cold — but  Smith  wouldn't  part 
with  the  snake  nohow.  So  finally  they  fixed  up  a 
deal  so  Smith  could  go  along  with  the  show.  They 
shoved  Clarence  in  a  box  in  the  baggage  car,  but 
after  a  while  Mr.  Snake  gets  so  lonesome  he  gnaws 
out  and  starts  to  crawl  back  to  find  his  master.  Just  as 
he  is  half-way  between  the  baggage  car  and  the 
smoker,  the  couplin'  give  way — right  on  that  heavy 
grade  between  Custer  and  Rocky  Point.  Well,  sir, 
Clarence  wound  his  head  'round  one  brake  wheel 
and  his  tail  around  the  other,  and  held  that  train 
together  to  the  bottom  of  the  grade.  But  it  stretched 
him  twenty-eight  feet  and  they  had  to  advertise  him 
as  a  boa-constrictor." 

Windy  Bill's  history  of  the  faithful  bullsnake 
aroused  to  reminiscence  the  grizzled  stranger,  who 
thereupon  held  forth  as  follows: 

Wall,  I've  see  things  and  I've  heerd  things,  some 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED 

of  them  ornery,  and  some  you'd  love  to  believe,  they 
was  that  gorgeous  and  improbable.  Nat'ral  history 
was  always  my  hobby  and  sportin'  events  my  special 
pleasure — and  this  yarn  of  Windy's  reminds  me 
of  the  only  chanst  I  ever  had  to  ring  in  business 
und  pleasure  and  hobby  all  in  one  grand  merry-go- 
round  of  joy.  It  come  about  like  this: 

One  day,  a  few  year  back,  I  was  sittin'  on  the 
beach  at  Santa  Barbara  watchin'  the  sky  stay  up, 
and  wonderin'  what  to  do  with  my  year's  wages,  when 
a  little  squinch-eye  round-face  with  big  bow  spec 
tacles  came  and  plumped  down  beside  me. 

"  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,"  says  he,  shovin* 
back  his  hat,  "  that  if  the  horse-power  delivered 
by  them  waves  on  this  beach  in  one  single  hour  could 
be  concentrated  behind  washin'  machines,  it  would 
be  enough  to  wash  all  the  shirts  for  a  city  of  four 
hundred  and  fifty-one  thousand  one  hundred  and 
thirty-six  people?  " 

"Can't  say  I  ever  did,"  says  I,  squintin'  at  him 
sideways. 

"  Fact,"  says  he,  "  and  did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  if  all  the  food  a  man  eats  in  the  course  of  a 
natural  life  could  be  gathered  together  at  one 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

time,  it  would  fill  a  wagon-train  twelve  miles 
long?" 

"  You  make  me  hungry,"  says  I. 

"  And  ain't  it  interestin'  to  reflect,"  he  goes  on, 
"  that  if  all  the  finger-nail  parin's  of  the  human  race 
for  one  year  was  to  be  collected  and  subjected  to 
hydraulic  pressure  it  would  equal  in  size  the  pyramid 
of  Cheops?" 

"  Look  yere,"  says  I,  sittin'  up,  "  did  you  ever 
pause  to  excogitate  that  if  all  the  hot  air  you  is  dis- 
pensin'  was  to  be  collected  together  it  would  fill 
a  balloon  big  enough  to  waft  you  and  me  over  that 
Bullyvard  of  Palms  to  yonder  gin  mill  on  the 
corner?  " 

He  didn't  say  nothin'  to  that — just  yanked  me 
to  my  feet,  faced  me  towards  the  gin  mill  above 
mentioned,  and  exerted  considerable  pressure  on  my 
arm  in  urgin'  of  me  forward. 

"  You  ain't  so  much  of  a  dreamer,  after  all," 
thinks  I.  "  In  important  matters  you  are  plumb 
decisive." 

We  sat  down  at  little  tables,  and  my  friend  or 
dered  a  beer  and  a  chicken  sandwich. 

"  Chickens,"  says  he,  gazin'  at  the  sandwich,  "  is 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     223 

a  dollar  apiece  in  this  country,  and  plumb  scarce. 
Did  you  ever  pause  to  ponder  over  the  returns 
chickens  would  give  on  a  small  investment?  Say  you 
start  with  ten  hens.  Each  hatches  out  thirteen  aigs, 
of  which  allow  a  loss  of  say  six  for  childish  accidents. 
At  the  end  of  the  year  you  has  eighty  chickens.  At 
the  end  of  two  years  that  flock  has  increased  to 
six  hundred  and  twenty.  At  the  end  of  the  third 
year " 

lie  had  the  medicine  tongue!  Ten  days  later  him 
and  me  was  occupyin'  of  an  old  ranch  fifty  mile  from 
anywhere.  When  they  run  stage-coaches  this  joint 
used  to  be  a  road-house.  The  outlook  was  on  about 
a  thousand  little  brown  foothills.  A  road  two  miles 
four  rods  two  foot  eleven  inches  in  sight  run  by  in 
front  of  us.  It  come  over  one  foothill  and  disap 
peared  over  another.  I  know  just  how  long  it  was, 
for  later  in  the  game  I  measured  it. 

Out  back  was  about  a  hundred  little  wire  chicken 
corrals  filled  with  chickens.  We  had  two  kinds.  That 
was  the  doin's  of  Tuscarora.  My  pardner  called 
himself  .Tuscarora  Maxillary.  I  asked  him  once  if 
that  was  his  rea4  name. 

"  It's  the  realest  little  old  name  you  ever  heerd 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

tell  of,"  says  he.  "  I  know,  for  I  made  it  myself-— 
liked  the  sound  of  her.  Parents  ain't  got  no  rights 
to  name  their  children.  Parents  don't  have  to  be 
called  them  names." 

Well,  these  chickens,  as  I  said,  was  of  two  kinds. 
The  first  was  these  low-set,  heavy-weight  proposi 
tions  with  feathers  on  their  laigs,  and  not  much 
laigs  at  that,  called  Cochin  Chinys.  The  other  was 
a  tall  ridiculous  outfit  made  up  entire  of  bulgin' 
breast  and  gangle  laigs.  They  stood  about  two  foot 
and  a  half  tall,  and  when  they  went  to  peck  the 
ground  their  tail  feathers  stuck  straight  up  to  the 
sky.  Tusky  called  'em  Japanese  Games. 

"  Which  the  chief  advantage  of  them  chickens 
is,"  says  he,  "that  in  weight  about  ninety  per  cent, 
of  'em  is  breast  meat.  Now  my  idee  is,  that  if  we 
can  cross  'em  with  these  Cochin  Chiny  fowls  we'll 
have  a  low-hung,  heavy-weight  chicken  runnin' 
strong  on  breast  meat.  These  Jap  Games  is  too 
small,  but  if  we  can  bring  'em  up  in  size  and  shorten 
their  laigs,  we'll  shore  have  a  winner." 

That  looked  good  to  me,  so  we  started  in  on  that 
idee.  The  theery  was  bully,  but  she  didn't  work  out. 
The  first  broods  we  hatched  growed  up  with  big 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     225 

husky  Cochin  Chiny  bodies  and  little  short  necks, 
perched  up  on  laigs  three  foot  long.  Them  chickens 
couldn't  reach  ground  nohow.  We  had  to  build  a 
table  for  'em  to  eat  off,  and  when  they  went  out 
rustlin'  for  themselves  they  had  to  confine  them 
selves  to  sidehills  or  flyin'  insects.  Their  breasts  was 
all  right,  though — "  And  think  of  them  drumsticks 
for  the  boardin'-house  trade ! "  says  Tusky. 

So  far  things  wasn't  so  bad.  We  had  a  good 
grubstake.  Tusky  and  me  used  to  feed  them  chickens 
twict  a  day,  and  then  used  to  set  around  watchin'  the 
playful  critters  chase  grasshoppers  up  an'  down  the 
wire  corrals,  while  Tusky  figgered  out  what'd  hap 
pen  if  somebody  was  dumfool  enough  to  gather  up 
somethin'  and  fix  it  in  baskets  or  wagons  or  such. 
That  was  where  we  showed  our  ignorance  of  chickens. 

One  day  in  the  spring  I  hitched  up,  rustled  a  dozen 
of  the  youngsters  into  coops,  and  druv  over  to  the 
railroad  to  make  our  first  sale.  I  couldn't  fold  them 
chickens  up  into  them  coops  at  first,  but  then  I  stuck 
the  coops  up  on  aidge  and  they  worked  all  right, 
though  I  will  admit  they  was  a  comical  sight.  At 
the  railroad  one  of  them  towerist  trains  had  just 
slowed  down  to  a  halt  as  I  come  up,  and  the  towerists 


226  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

was  paradin'  up  and  down  allowin'  they  was  par- 
jicular  cnjoyin'  of  the  warm  Calif orny  sunshine.  One 
old  terrapin,  with  grey  chin  whiskers,  projected 
over,  with  his  wife,  and  took  a  peek  through  the 
slats  of  my  coop.  He  straightened  up  like  someone 
had  touched  him  off  with  a  red-hot  poker. 

"  Stranger,"  said  he,  in  a  scared  kind  of  whisper, 
"what's  them?" 

"  Them's  chickens,"  says  I. 

He  took  another  long  look. 

"  Marthy,"  says  he  to  the  old  woman,  "  this  will 
be  about  all!  We  come  out  from  loway  to  see  the 
Wonders  of  Californy,  but  I  can't  go  nothin' 
stronger  than  this.  If  these  is  chickens,  I  don't  want 
to  see  no  Big  Trees." 

Well,  I  sold  them  chickens  all  right  for  a  dollar 
and  two  bits,  which  was  better  than  I  expected,  and 
got  an  order  for  more.  About  ten  days  later  I  got 
a  letter  from  the  commission  house. 

"  We  are  returnin'  a  sample  of  your  Arts  and 
Crafts  chickens  with  the  lovin'  marks  of  the  teeth 
still  onto  him,"  says  they.  "  Don't  send  any  more 
till  they  stops  pursuin'  of  the  nimble  grasshopper. 
Dentist  bill  will  f oiler." 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     227 

With  the  letter  came  the  remains  of  one  of  the 
chickens.  Tusky  and  I,  very  indignant,  cooked  her 
for  supper.  She  was  tough,  all  right.  We  thought 
she  might  do  better  biled,  so  we  put  her  in  the  pot 
over  night.  Nary  bit.  Well,  then  we  got  interested. 
Tusky  kep'  the  fire  goin'  and  I  rustled  greasewood. 
We  cooked  her  three  days  and  three  nights.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  she  was  sort  of  pale  and  frazzled, 
but  still  givin'  points  to  three-year-old  jerky  on 
cohesion  and  other  uncompromisin'  forces  of  Nature. 
We  buried  her  then,  and  went  out  back  to  recuperate. 

There  we  could  gaze  on  the  smilin'  landscape, 
dotted  by  about  four  hundred  long-laigged  chickens 
swoopin'  here  and  there  after  grasshoppers. 

"  We  got  to  stop  that,"  says  I. 

"  We  can't,"  murmured  Tusky,  inspired.  "  We 
can't.  It's  born  in  'em ;  it's  a  primal  instinct,  like  the 
love  of  a  mother  for  her  young,  and  it  can't  be  eradi 
cated!  Them  chickens  is  constructed  by  a  divine 
providence  for  the  express  purpose  of  chasin'  grass 
hoppers,  jest  as  the  beaver  is  made  for  buildin' 
dams,  and  the  cow-puncher  is  made  for  whisky  and 
faro-games.  We  can't  keep  'em  from  it.  If  we  was 
to  shut  .'em  in  a  dark  cellar,  they'd  flop  after  imag- 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

inary  grasshoppers  in  their  dreams,  and  die  emaci« 
ated  in  the  midst  of  plenty.  Jimmy,  we're  up  agin 
the  Cosmos,  the  oversoul "  Oh,  he  had  the  medi 
cine  tongue,  Tusky  had,  and  risin'  on  the  wings  of 
eloquence  that  way,  he  had  me  faded  in  ten  minutes. 
In  fifteen  I  was  wedded  solid  to  the  notion  that  the 
bottom  had  dropped  out  of  the  chicken  business.  I 
think  now  that  if  we'd  shut  them  hens  up,  we  might 
have — still,  I  don't  know;  they  was  a  good  deal  in 
what  Tusky  said. 

"  Tuscarora  Maxillary,"  says  I,  "  did  you  ever 
stop  to  entertain  that  beautiful  thought  that  if  all 
the  dumfoolishness  possessed  now  by  the  human  race 
could  be  gathered  together,  and  lined  up  alongside 
of  us,  the  first  feller  to  come  along  would  say  to  it 
<  Why,  hello,  Solomon!'" 

We  quit  the  notion  of  chickens  for  profit  right 
then  and  there,  but  we  couldn't  quit  the  place.  We 
hadn't  much  money,  for  one  thing,  and  then  we  kind 
of  liked  loafin'  around  and  raisin'  a  little  garden 
truck,  and — oh,  well,  I  might  as  well  say  so,  we  had 
a  notion  about  placers  in  the  dry  wash  back  of  the 
house — you  know  how  it  is.  So  we  stayed  on,  and 
kept  a-raisin'  these  long-laigs  for  the  fun  of  it.  I 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     229 

used  to  like  to  watch  'em  projectin'  around,  and  I 
fed  'em  twict  a  day  about  as  usual. 

So  Tusky  and  I  lived  alone  there  together,  happy 
as  ducks  in  Arizona.  About  onc't  in  a  month  some- 
body'd  pjke  along  the  road.  She  wasn't  much  of  a 
road,  generally  more  chuck-holes  than  bumps,  though 
sometimes  it  was  the  other  way  around.  Unless  it 
happened  to  be  a  man  horseback  or  maybe  a 
freighter  without  the  fear  of  God  in  his  soul,  we 
didn't  have  no  words  with  them;  they  was  too  busy 
cussin'  the  highways  and  generally  too  mad  for 
social  discourses. 

One  day  early  in  the  year,  when  the  'dobe  mud 
made  ruts  to  add  to  the  bumps,  one  of  these  auto- 
mobeels  went  past.  It  was  the  first  Tusky  and  me 
had  seen  in  them  parts,  so  we  run  out  to  view  her. 
Owin'  to  the  high  spots  on  the  road,  she  looked  like 
one  of  these  movin'  picters,  as  to  blur  and  wobble; 
sounded  like  a  cyclone  mingled  with  cuss-words,  and 
smelt  like  hell  on  housecleanin'  day. 

"  Which  them  folks  don't  seem  to  be  enjoyin'  of 
the  scenery,"  says  I  to  Tusky.  "  Do  you  reckon 
that  there  blue  trail  is  smoke  from  the  machine  or 
remarks  from  the  inhabitants  thereof?  " 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Tusky  raised  his  head  and  sniffed  long  and  in« 
quirin'. 

"  It's  langwidge,"  says  he.  "  Did  you  ever  stop 
to  think  that  all  the  words  in  the  dictionary  hitched 
end  to  end  would  reach " 

But  at  that  minute  I  catched  sight  of  somethin* 
brass  lyin'  in  the  road.  It  proved  to  be  a  curled-up 
sort  of  horn  with  a  rubber  bulb  on  the  end.  I  squoze 
the  bulb  and  jumped  twenty  foot  over  the  remark 
she  made. 

"  Jarred  off  the  machine,"  says  Tusky. 

"  Oh,  did  it?  "  says  I,  my  nerves  still  wrong.  "  I 
thought  maybe  it  had  growed  up  from  the  soil  like 
a  toadstool." 

About  this  time  we  abolished  the  wire  chicken 
corrals,  because  we  needed  some  of  the  wire.  Them 
long-laigs  thereupon  scattered  all  over  the  flat 
searchin'  out  their  prey.  When  feed  time  come  I  had 
to  screech  my  lungs  out  gettin'  of  'em  in,  and  then 
sometimes  they  didn't  all  hear.  It  was  plumb  dis- 
couragin',  and  I  mighty  nigh  made  up  my  mind  to 
quit  'em,  but  they  had  come  to  be  sort  of  pets,  and 
I  hated  to  turn  'em  down.  It  used  to  tickle  Tusky 
almost  to  death  to  see  me  out  there  hollerin'  away 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     231 

like  an  old  bull-frog.  He  used  to  come  out  reg'lar, 
with  his  pipe  lit,  just  to  enjoy  me.  Finally  I  got 
mad  and  opened  up  on  him. 

"  Oh,"  he  explains,  "  it  just  plumb  amuses  me  to 
see  the  dumfool  at  his  childish  work.  Why  don't 
you  teach  'em  to  come  to  that  brass  horn,  and  save 
your  voice?  " 

"  Tusky,"  says  I,  with  feelin',  "  sometimes  you 
do  seem  to  get  a  glimmer  of  rt  ]  sense." 

Well,  first  off  them  chickens  u;^  J  to  throw  back- 
sommersets  over  that  horn.  You  have  no  idee  how 
slow  chickens  is  to  learn  things.  I  couic>  tell  you 
things  about  chickens — say,  this  yere  bluff  about 
roosters  bein'  gallant  is  all  wrong.  I've  watched  'em. 
When  one  finds  a  nice  feed  he  gobbles  it  so  fast  that 
the  pieces  foller  down  his  throat  like  yearlin's 
through  a  hole  in  the  fence.  It's  only  when  he 
scratches  up  a  measly  one-grain  quick-lunch  that 
he  calls  up  the  hens  and  stands  noble  and  self-sac- 
rificin'  to  one  side.  That  ain't  the  point,  which  is, 
that  after  two  months  I  had  them  long-laigs  so  they'd 
drop  everythin'  and  come  kitin'  at  the  honk-honk  of 
that  horn.  It  was  a  purty  sight  to  see  'em,  sailin' 
in  from  all  directions  twenty  foot  at  a  stride.  I  was 


232  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

proud  of  'em,  and  named  'em  the  Honk-honk  Breed, 
We  didn't  have  no  others,  for  by  now  the  coyotes 
and  bob-cats  had  nailed  the  straight-breds.  There 
wasn't  no  wild  cat  or  coyote  could  catch  one  of  my 
Honk-honks,  no,  sir! 

We  made  a  little  on  our  placer — just  enough  to' 
keep  interested.  Then  the  supervisors  decided  to  fix 
our  road,  and  what's  more,  they  done  it!  That's  the 
only  part  in  this  yarn  that's  hard  to  believe,  but, 
boys,  you'll  hf  ?.  to  take  it  on  faith.  They  ploughed 
her,  and  crowned  her,  and  scraped  her,  and  rolled 
her,  anr1  when  they  moved  on  we  had  the  fanciest 
highway  in  the  State  of  Calif orny. 

That  noon — the  day  they  called  her  a  job — Tusky 
and  I  sat  smokin'  our  pipes  as  per  usual,  when 
way  over  the  foothills  we  seen  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
faint  to  our  ears  was  bore  a  whizzin'  sound.  The 
chickens  was  gathered  under  the  cottonwood  for  the 
heat  of  the  day,  but  they  didn't  pay  no  attention. 
Then  faint,  but  clear,  we  heard  another  of  them 
brass  horns: 

"  Honk !  honk ! "  says  it,  and  every  one  of  them 
chickens  woke  up,  and  stood  at  attention. 

"  Honk !    honk !  '*  it  hollered  clearer  and  nearer. 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     238 

Then  over  the  hill  come  an  automobeel,  blowin'  vig 
orous  at  every  jump. 

"  My  God ! "  I  yells  to  Tusky,  kickin'  over  my 
chair,  as  I  springs  to  my  feet.  "  Stop  'em !  Stop 
'em!" 

But  it  was  too  late.  Out  the  gate  sprinted  them 
poor  devoted  chickens,  and  up  the  road  they  trailed 
in  vain  pursuit.  The  last  we  seen  of  'em  was  a 
minglin'  of  dust  and  dim  figgers  goin'  thirty  mile 
an  hour  after  a  disappearin'  automobeel. 

That  was  all  we  seen  for  the  moment.  About  three 
o'clock  the  first  straggler  came  limpin'  in,  his  wings 
hangin',  his  mouth  open,  his  eyes  glazed  with  the 
heat.  By  sundown  fourteen  had  returned.  All  the 
rest  had  disappeared  utter ;  we  never  seen  'em  again. 
I  reckon  they  just  naturally  run  themselves  into  a 
sunstroke  and  died  on  the  road. 

It  takes  a  long  time  to  learn  a  chicken  a  thing, 
but  a  heap  longer  to  unlearn  him.  After  that  two 
or  three  of  these  yere  automobeels  went  by  every 
day,  all  a-blowin'  of  their  horns,  all  kickin'  up  a 
hell  of  a  dust.  And  every  time  them  fourteen  Honk- 
honks  of  mine  took  along  after  'em,  just  as  I'd 
taught  'em  to  do,  layin'  to  get  to  their  corn  when 


234  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

they  caught  up.  No  more  of  'em  died,  but  that  four 
teen  did  get  into  elegant  trainin'.  After  a  while 
they  got  plumb  to  enjoyin'  it.  When  you  come  right 
down  to  it,  a  chicken  don't  have  many  amusements 
and  relaxations  in  this  life.  Searchin'  for  worms, 
chasm'  grasshoppers,  and  wallerin'  in  the  dust  is 
about  the  limits  of  joys  for  chickens. 

It  was  sure  a  fine  sight  to  see  'em  after  they  got 
well  into  the  game.  About  nine  o'clock  every  mornin' 
they  would  saunter  down  to  the  rise  of  the  road  where 
they  would  wait  patient  until  a  machine  came  along. 
Then  it  would  warm  your  heart  to  see  the  enthusiasm 
of  them.  With  exultant  cackles  of  joy  they'd  trail 
in,  reachin'  out  like  quarter-horses,  their  wings  half 
spread  out,  their  eyes  beamin'  with  delight.  At  the 
lower  turn  they'd  quit.  Then,  after  talkin'  it  over 
excited-like  for  a  few  minutes,  they'd  calm  down  and 
wait  for  another. 

After  a  few  months  of  this  sort  of  trainin'  they 
got  purty  good  at  it.  I  had  one  two-year-old  rooster 
that  made  fifty-four  mile  an  hour  behind  one  of 
those  sixty-horsepower  Panhandles.  When  cars 
didn't  come  along  often  enough,  they'd  all  turn  out 
and  chase  jack-rabbits.  They  wasn't  much  fun  at 


THE     HONK-HONK    BREED     235 

that.  After  a  short,  brief  sprint  the  rabbit  would 
crouch  down  plumb  terrified,  while  the  Honk-honks 
pulled  off  triumphal  dances  around  his  shrinkin' 
form. 

Our  ranch  got  to  be  purty  well  known  them  days 
among  automobeelists.  The  strength  of  their  cars  was 
horse-power,  of  course,  but  the  speed  of  them  they 
got  to  ratin'  by  chicken-power.  Some  of  them 
used  to  come  way  up  from  Los  Angeles  just  to  try 
out  a  new  car  along  our  road  with  the  Honk-honks 
for  pace-makers.  We  charged  them  a  little  somethin', 
and  then,  too,  we  opened  up  the  road-house  and  the 
bar,  so  we  did  purty  well.  It  wasn't  necessary  to 
work  any  longer  at  that  bogus  placer.  Evenin's  we 
sat  around  outside  and  swapped  yarns,  and  I  bragged 
on  my  chickens.  The  chickens  would  gather  round 
close  to  listen.  They  liked  to  hear  their  praises  sung, 
all  right.  You  bet  they  sabel  The  only  reason  a 
chicken,  or  any  other  critter,  isn't  intelligent  is  be 
cause  he  hasn't  no  chance  to  expand. 

Why,  we  used  to  run  races  with  'em.  Some  of  us 
would  hold  two  or  more  chickens  back  of  a  chalk 
line,  and  the  starter'd  blow  the  horn  from  a  hun 
dred  yards  to  a  mile  away,  dependin'  on  whether  it 


236  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

was  a  sprint  or  for  distance.  We  had  pools  on  the 
results,  gave  odds,  made  books,  and  kept  records. 
After  the  thing  got  knowed  we  made  money  hand 
over  fist. 

The  stranger  broke  off  abruptly  and  began  to 
roll  a  cigarette. 

"  What  did  you  quit  it  for,  then  ? "  ventured 
Charley,  out  of  the  hushed  silence. 

"  Pride,"  replied  the  stranger  solemnly.  "  Haughti 
ness  of  spirit." 

"  How  so?"  urged  Charley,  after  a  pause. 

"  Them  chickens,"  continued  the  stranger,  after 
a  moment,  "  stood  around  listenin'  to  me  a-braggin' 
of  what  superior  fowls  they  was  until  they  got  all 
puffed  up.  They  wouldn't  have  nothin'  whatever 
to  do  with  the  ordinary  chickens  we  brought  in 
for  eatin'  purposes,  but  stood  around  lookin'  bored 
when  there  wasn't  no  sport  doin'.  They  got  to  be 
just  like  that  Four  Hundred  you  read  about  in  the 
papers.  It  was  one  continual  round  of  grasshopper 
balls,  race  meets,  and  afternoon  hen-parties.  They 
got  idle  and  haughty,  just  like  folks.  Then  come 


THE     HONK-HONK     BREED     237 

race  suicide.  They  got  to  feelin'  so  aristocratic  the 
hens  wouldn't  have  no  eggs." 

Nobody  dared  say  a  word. 

"  Windy  Bill's  snake "  began  the  narrator 

genially. 

"  Stranger,"  broke  in  Windy  Bill,  with  great  em 
phasis,  "  as  to  that  snake,  I  want  you  to  understand 
this :  yereaf  ter  in  my  estimation  that  snake  is  nothin' 
but  an  ornery  angle-worm ! " 


PART    II 
THE    TWO-GUN    MAN? 


CHAPTER    ONE 

THE   CATTLE    RUSTLERS 

BUCK  JOHNSON  was  American  born,  but  with  a  black 
beard  and  a  dignity  of  manner  that  had  earned  him 
the  title  of  Sefior.  He  had  drifted  into  southeastern 
Arizona  in  the  days  of  Cochise  and  Victorio  and 
Geronimo.  He  had  persisted,  and  so  in  time  had 
come  to  control  the  water — and  hence  the  grazing — 
of  nearly  all  the  Soda  Springs  Valley.  His  troubles 
were  many,  and  his  difficulties  great.  There  were 
the  ordinary  problems  of  lean  and  dry  years.  There 
were  also  the  extraordinary  problems  of  devastating 
Apaches ;  rivals  for  early  and  ill-defined  range 
rights — and  cattle  rustlers. 

Senor  Buck  Johnson  was  a  man  of  capacity,  cour 
age,  directness  of  method,  and  perseverance.  Espe 
cially  the  latter.  Therefore  he  had  survived  to  see 
the  Apaches  subdued,  the  range  rights  adjusted, 
his  cattle  increased  to  thousands,  grazing  the  area 
of  a  principality.  Now,  all  the  energy  and  fire  of  his 

241 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

frontiersman's  nature  he  had  turned  to  wiping  out 
the  third  uncertainty  of  an  uncertain  business.  He 
found  it  a  task  of  some  magnitude. 

For  Senor  Buck  Johnson  lived  just  north  of  that 
terra  incognita  filled  with  the  mystery  of  a  double 
chance  of  death  from  man  or  the  flaming  desert  known 
as  the  Mexican  border.  There,  by  natural  gravitation, 
gathered  all  the  desperate  characters  of  three  States 
and  two  republics.  He  who  rode  into  it  took  good 
care  that  no  one  should  ride  behind  him,  lived  warily, 
slept  light,  and  breathed  deep  when  once  he  had 
again  sighted  the  familiar  peaks  of  Cochise's 
Stronghold.  No  one  professed  knowledge  of  those 
who  dwelt  therein.  They  moved,  mysterious  as  the 
desert  illusions  that  compassed  them  about.  As  you 
rode,  the  ranges  of  mountains  visibly  changed  form, 
the  monstrous,  snaky,  sea-like  growths  of  the  cactus 
clutched  at  your  stirrup,  mock  lakes  sparkled  and 
dissolved  in  the  middle  distance,  the  sun  beat  hot 
and  merciless,  the  powdered  dry  alkali  beat  hotly 
and  mercilessly  back — and  strange,  grim  men, 
swarthy,  bearded,  heavily  armed,  with  red-rimmed 
unshifting  eyes,  rode  silently  out  of  the  mists  of 
illusion  to  look  on  you  steadily,  and  then  to  ride 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS 

silently  back  into  the  desert  haze.  They  might  be 
only  the  herders  of  the  gaunt  cattle,  or  again  they 
i  might  belong  to  the  Lost  Legion  that  peopled  the 
country.  All  you  could  know  was  that  of  the  men 
who  entered  in,  but  few  returned. 

Directly  north  of  this  unknown  land   you  encoun- 

i  tered   parallel   fences   running   across   the   country. 

They  enclosed  nothing,  but  offered  a  check  to  the 

cattle  drifting  toward  the  clutch  of  the  renegades, 

and  an  obstacle  to  swift,  dashing  forays. 

Of  cattle-rustling  there  are  various  forms.  The 
boldest  consists  quite  simply  of  running  off  a  bunch 
of  stock,  hustling  it  over  the  Mexican  line,  and 
there  selling  it  to  some  of  the  big  Sonora  ranch 
owners.  Generally  this  sort  means  war.  Also  are 
there  subtler  means,  grading  in  skill  from  the  re- 
branding  through  a  wet  blanket,  through  the  crafty 
refashioning  of  a  brand  to  the  various  methods  of 
separating  the  cow  from  her  unbranded  calf.  In  the 
course  of  his  task  Senor  Buck  Johnson  would  have 
to  do  with  them  all,  but  at  present  he  existed  in  a 
state  of  warfare,  fighting  an  enemy  who  stole  as  the 
Indians  used  to  steal. 

Already  he  had  fought  two  pitched  battles,  and 


244  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

had  won  them  both.  His  cattle  increased,  and  he 
became  rich.  Nevertheless  he  knew  that  constantly 
his  resources  were  being  drained.  Time  and  again 
he  and  his  new  Texas  foreman,  Jed  Parker,  had  fol 
lowed  the  trail  of  a  stampeded  bunch  of  twenty  or 
thirty,  followed  them  on  down  through  the  Soda 
Springs  Valley  to  the  cut  drift  fences,  there  to 
abandon  them.  For,  as  yet,  an  armed  force  would 
be  needed  to  penetrate  the  borderland.  Once  he  and 
his  men  had  experienced  the  glory  of  a  night  pur 
suit.  Then,  at  the  drift  fences,  he  had  fought  one 
of  his  battles.  But  it  was  impossible  adequately  to 
patrol  all  parts  of  a  range  bigger  than  some  Eastern 
States. 

Buck  Johnson  did  his  best,  but  it  was  like  stopping 
with  sand  the  innumerable  little  leaks  of  a  dam.  Did 
his  riders  watch  toward  the  Chiricahuas,  then  a  score 
of  beef  steers  disappeared  from  Grant's  Pass  forty 
miles  away.  Pursuit  here  meant  leaving  cattle  un 
guarded  there.  It  was  useless,  and  the  Senor  soon 
perceived  that  sooner  or  later  he  must  strike  in 
offence. 

For  this  purpose  he  began  slowly  to  strengthen 
the  forces  of  his  riders.  Men  were  coming  in  from 


THE  CATTLE  RUSTLERS  245 
Texas.  They  were  good  men,  addicted  to  the  grass- 
rope,  the  double  cinch,  and  the  ox-bow  stirrup. 
Senor  Johnson  wanted  men  who  could  shoot,  and 
he  got  them. 

"  Jed,"  said  Senor  Johnson  to  his  foreman,  "  the 
next  son  of  a  gun  that  rustles  any  of  our  cows  is 
sure  loading  himself  full  of  trouble.  We'll  hit  his 
trail  and  will  stay  with  it,  and  we'll  reach  his  cattle- 
rustling  conscience  with  a  rope." 

So  it  came  about  that  a  little  army  crossed  the 
drift  fences  and  entered  the  border  country.  Two 
days  later  it  came  out,  and  mighty  pleased  to  be 
able  to  do  so.  The  rope  had  not  been  used. 

The  reason  for  the  defeat  was  quite  simple.  The 
thief  had  run  his  cattle  through  the  lava  beds  where 
the  trail  at  once  became  difficult  to  follow.  This 
delayed  the  pursuing  party ;  they  ran  out  of  water, 
and,  as  there  was  among  them  not  one  man  well 
enough  acquainted  with  the  country  to  know  where 
to  find  more,  they  had  to  return. 

"  No  use,  Buck,"  said  Jed.  "  We'd  any  of  us  come 
in  on  a  gun  play,  but  we  can't  buck  the  desert. 
We'll  have  to  get  someone  who  knows  the  country." 

"  That's  all  right — but  where?  "  queried  Johnson. 


246  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"There's  Pereza,"  suggested  Parker.  "It's  the 
only  town  down  near  that  country." 

"Might  get  someone  there,"  agreed  the  Sefior. 

Next  day  he  rode  away  in  search  of  a  guide.  The 
third  evening  he  was  back  again,  much  discour 
aged. 

"  The  country's  no  good,"  he  explained.  "  The 
regular  inhabitants  're  a  set  of  Mexican  bums  and 
old  soaks.  The  cowmen's  all  from  north  and  don't 
know  nothing  more  than  we  do.  I  found  lots  who 
claimed  to  know  that  country,  but  when  I  told  'em 
what  I  wanted  they  shied  like  a  colt.  I  couldn't  hire 
'em,  for  no  money,  to  go  down  in  that  country.  They 
ain't  got  the  nerve.  I  took  two  days  to  her,  too, 
and  rode  out  to  a  ranch  where  they  said  a  man  lived 
who  knew  all  about  it  down  there.  Nary  riffle.  Man 
looked  all  right,  but  his  tail  went  down  like  the  rest 
when  I  told  him  what  we  wanted.  Seemed  plumb 
scairt  to  death.  Says  he  lives  too  close  to  the  gang. 
Says  they'd  wipe  him  out  sure  if  he  done  it.  Seemed 
plumb  scairt ."  Buck  Johnson  grinned.  "  I  told  him 
so  and  he  got  hosstyle  right  off.  Didn't  seem  no  ways 
scairt  of  me.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  that 
outfit  down  there.  They're  plumb  terrorised." 


THE     CATTLE     RUSTLERS     247 

That  night  a  bunch  of  steers  was  stolen  from  the 
very  corrals  of  the  home  ranch.  The  home  ranch 
was  far  north,  near  Fort  Sherman  itself,  and  so 
had  always  been  considered  immune  from  attack. 
Consequently  these  steers  were  very  fine  ones. 

For  the  first  time  Buck  Johnson  lost  his  head  and 
his  dignity.  He  ordered  the  horses. 

"  I'm  going  to  follow  that into  Sonora," 

he  shouted  to  Jed  Parker.  "  This  thing's  got  to 
stop!" 

"You  can't  make  her,  Buck,"  objected  the  fore 
man.  "  You'll  get  held  up  by  the  desert,  and,  if 
that  don't  finish  you,  they'll  tangle  you  up  in  all 
those  little  mountains  down  there,  and  ambush  you, 
and  massacre  you.  You  know  it  damn  well." 

"  I  don't  give  a  ,"  exploded  Senor  John 
son,  "  if  they  do.  No  man  can  slap  my  face  and 
not  get  a  run  for  it." 

Jed  Parker  communed  with  himself. 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  it's  no  good ;  you  can't 
do  it.  You  got  to  have  a  guide.  You  wait  three  days 
and  Til  get  you  one." 

"  You  can't  do  it,"  insisted  the  Senor.  "  I  tried 
every  man  in  the  district." 


248  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  Will  you  wait  three  days  ?  "  repeated  the  fore 
man. 

Johnson  pulled  loose  his  latigo.  His  first  anger 
had  cooled. 

"  All  right,"  he  agreed,  "  and  you  can  say  for  me 
that  I'll  pay  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold  and  give  , 
all  the  men  and  horses  he  needs  to  the  man  who  has 
the  nerve  to  get  back  that  bunch  of  cattle,  and  bring 
in  the  man  who  rustled  them.  I'll  sure  make  this  a 
test  case." 

So  Jed  Parker  set  out  to  discover  his  man  with 
nerve. 


CHAPTER     TWO 

THE   MAN    WITH    NERVE 

AT  about  ten  o'clock  of  the  Fourth  of  July  a  rider 
topped  the  summit  of  the  last  swell  of  land,  and 
loped  his  animal  down  into  the  single  street  of 
Pereza.  The  buildings  on  either  side  were  flat-roofed 
and  coated  with  plaster.  Over  the  sidewalks  extended 
wooden  awnings,  beneath  which  opened  very  wide 
doors  into  the  coolness  of  saloons.  Each  of  these 
places  ran  a  bar,  and  also  games  of  roulette,  faro, 
craps,  and  stud  poker.  Even  this  early  in  the  morn 
ing  every  game  was  patronised. 

The  day  was  already  hot  with  the  dry,  breathless, 
but  exhilarating,  heat  of  the  desert.  A  throng  of 
men  idling  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalks,  jostling 
up  and  down  their  centre,  or  eddying  into  the  places 
of  amusement,  acknowledged  the  power  of  summer 
by  loosening  their  collars,  carrying  their  coats  on 
their  arms.  They  were  as  yet  busily  engaged  in 
recognising  acquaintances.  ^JLater  they  would  drink 
freely  and  gamble,  and  perhaps  fight.  Toward  all 


250  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

but  those  whom  they  recognised  they  preserved  an 
attitude  of  potential  suspicion,  for  here  were  gath 
ered  the  "  bad  men "  of  the  border  countries.  A 
certain  jealousy  or  touchy  egotism  lest  the  other 
man  be  considered  quicker  on  the  trigger,  bolder, 
more  aggressive  than  himself,  kept  each  strung  to 
tension.  An  occasional  shot  attracted  little  notice. 
Men  in  the  cow-countries  shoot  as  casually  as  we 
strike  matches,  and  some  subtle  instinct  told  them 
that  the  reports  were  harmless. 

As  the  rider  entered  the  one  street,  however,  a 
more  definite  cause  of  excitement  drew  the  loose 
population  toward  the  centre  of  the  road.  Imme 
diately  their  mass  blotted  out  what  had  interested 
them.  Curiosity  attracted  the  saunterers ;  then  in 
turn  the  frequenters  of  the  bars  and  gambling 
games.  In  a  very  few  moments  the  barkeepers,  gam 
blers,  and  look-out  men,  held  aloof  only  by  the  ne 
cessities  of  their  calling,  alone  of  all  the  popula 
tion  of  Pereza  were  not  included  in  the  newly-formed 
ring. 

The  stranger  pushed  his  horse  resolutely  to  the 
outer  edge  of  the  crowd  where,  from  his  point  of 
vantage,  he  could  easily  overlook  their  heads.  He 


THE     MAN     WITH     NERVE     251 

was  a  quiet-appearing  young  fellow,  rather  neatly 
dressed  in  the  border  costume,  rode  a  "  centre  fire," 
or  single-cinch,  saddle,  and  wore  no  chaps.  He  was 
what  is  known  as  a  "  two-gun  man  " :  that  is  to  say, 
he  wore  a  heavy  Colt's  revolver  on  either  hip.  The 
fact  that  the  lower  ends  of  his  holsters  were  tied 
down,  in  order  to  facilitate  the  easy  withdrawal  of 
the  revolvers,  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  expected  to 
use  them.  He  had  furthermore  a  quiet  grey  eye, 
with  the  glint  of  steel  that  bore  out  the  inference  of 
the  tied  holsters. 

The  newcomer  dropped  his  reins  on  his  pony's 
neck,  eased  himself  to  an  attitude  of  attention,  and 
looked  down  gravely  on  what  was  taking  place. 

He  saw  over  the  heads  of  the  bystanders  a  tall, 
muscular,  wild-eyed  man,  hatless,  his  hair  rumpled 
in-to  staring  confusion,  his  right  sleeve  rolled  to  his 
shoulder,  a  wicked-looking  nine-inch  knife  in  his 
hand,  and  a  red  bandana  handkerchief  hanging  by 
one  corner  from  his  teeth. 

"What's  biting  the  locoed  stranger?  "  the  young 
man  inquired  of  his  neighbour. 

The  other  frowned  at  him  darkly. 

"  Dare's   anyone  to  take  the  other  end  of  that 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

handkerchief  in  his  teeth,  and  fight  it  out  without 
letting  go." 

"  Nice  joyful  proposition,"  commented  the  young 
man. 

He  settled  himself  to  closer  attention.  The  wild- 
eyed  man  was  talking  rapidly.  What  he  said  cannot 
be  printed  here.  Mainly  was  it  derogatory  of  the 
southern  countries.  Shortly  it  became  boastful  of 
the  northern,  and  then  of  the  man  who  uttered  it. 
He  swaggered  up  and  down,  becoming  always  the 
more  insolent  as  his  challenge  remained  untaken. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  him  up  ? "  inquired  the 
young  man,  after  a  moment. 

"  Not  me !  "  negatived  the  other  vigorously.  "  I'll 
go  yore  little  old  gunfight  to  a  finish,  but  I  don't 
want  any  cold  steel  in  mine.  Ugh!  it  gives  me  the 
shivers.  It's  a  reg'lar  Mexican  trick!  With  a  gun 
it's  down  and  out,  but  this  knife  work  is  too  slow 
and  searchinV 

The  newcomer  said  nothing,  but  fixed  his  eye 
again  on  the  raging  man  with  the  knife. 

"Don't  you  reckon  he's  bluffing?"  he  inquired. 

"  Not  any ! "  denied  the  other  with  emphasis, 
"  He's  jest  drunk  enough  to  be  crazy  mad." 


THE     MAN     WITH     NERVE     253 

The  newcomer  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  cast 
his  glance  searchingly  over  the  fringe  of  the  crowd. 
It  rested  on  a  Mexican. 

"  Hi,  Tony !  come  here,"  he  called. 

The  Mexican  approached,  flashing  his  white  teeth. 

"  Here,"  said  the  stranger,  "  lend  me  your  knife 
a  minute." 

The  Mexican,  anticipating  sport  of  his  own  pe 
culiar  kind,  obeyed  with  alacrity. 

"  You  fellows  make  me  tired,"  observed  the  stran 
ger,  dismounting.  "  He's  got  the  whole  townful  of 
you  bluffed  to  a  standstill.  Damn  if  I  don't  try  his 
little  game." 

He  hung  his  coat  on  his  saddle,  shouldered  his  way 
through  the  press,  which  parted  for  him  readily, 
and  picked  up  the  other  corner  of  the  handkerchief. 

"  Now,  you  mangy  son  of  a  gun,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER     THREE 

THE    AGREEMENT 

JED  PABKER  straightened  his  back,  rolled  up  the 
bandana  handkerchief,  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket, 
hit  flat  with  his  hand  the  touselled  mass  of  his  hair, 
and  thrust  the  long  hunting  knife  into  its  sheath. 

"  You're  the  man  I  want,"  said  he. 

Instantly  the  two-gun  man  had  jerked  loose  his 
weapons  and  was  covering  the  foreman. 

"Am  I!  "he  snarled. 

"  Not  jest  that  way,"  explained  Parker.  "  My  gun 
is  on  my  hoss,  and  you  can  have  this  old  toad- 
sticker  if  you  want  it.  I  been  looking  for  you,  and 
took  this  way  of  finding  you.  Now,  let's  go  talk." 

The  stranger  looked  him  in  the  eye  for  nearly  a 
half  minute  without  lowering  his  revolvers. 

"  I  go  you,"  said  he  briefly,  at  last. 

But  the  crowd,  missing  the  purport,  and  in  fact 
the  very  occurrence  of  this  colloquy,  did  not  under 
stand.  It  thought  the  bluff  had  been  called,  and 

254 


THE     AGREEMENT  255 

naturally,  finding  harmless  what  had  intimidated  it, 
gave  way  to  an  exasperated  impulse  to  get  even. 

"You bluffer!"  shouted  a  voice,  "don't 

you  think  you  can  run  any  such  ranikaboo  here !  " 

Jed  Parker  turned  humorously  to  his  companion. 

"  Do  we  get  that  talk?  "  he  inquired  gently. 

For  answer  the  two-gun  man  turned  and  walked 
steadily  in  the  direction  of  the  man  who  had  shouted. 
The  latter's  hand  strayed  uncertainly  toward  his 
own  weapon,  but  the  movement  paused  when  the 
stranger's  clear,  steel  eye  rested  on  it. 

"  This  gentleman,"  pointed  out  the  two-gun  man 
softly,  "  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Don't  you  get  to 
calling  of  him  names." 

His  eye  swept  the  bystanders  calmly. 

"  Come  on,  Jack,"  said  he,  addressing  Parker. 

On  the  outskirts  he  encountered  the  Mexican  from 
whom  he  had  borrowed  the  knife. 

"  Here,  Tony,"  said  he  with  a  slight  laugh,  "  here's 
a  peso.  You'll  find  your  knife  back  there  where  I 
had  to  drop  her." 

He  entered  a  saloon,  nodded  to  the  proprietor,  and 
led  the  way  through  it  to  a  box-like  room  containing 
a  board  table  and  two  chairs. 


£56  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

"  Make  good,"  he  commanded  briefly. 

"  I'm  looking  for  a  man  with  nerve,"  explained 
Parker,  with  equal  succinctness.  "  You're  the  man." 

"Well?" 

"  Do  you  know  the  country  south  of  here?  w 

The  stranger's  eyes  narrowed. 

"  Proceed,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  foreman  of  the  Lazy  Y  of  Soda  Springs 
Valley  range,"  explained  Parker.  "  I'm  looking  for 
a  man  with  sand  enough  and  sdbe  of  the  country 
enough  to  lead  a  posse  after  cattle-rustlers  into  the 
border  country." 

**  I  live  in  this  country,"  admitted  the  stranger. 

"  So  do  plenty  of  others,  but  their  eyes  stick  out 
like  two  raw  oysters  when  you  mention  the  border 
country.  Will  you  tackle  it  ?  " 

"  What's  the  proposition?  " 

"  Come  and  see  the  old  man.  He'll  put  it  to 
you." 

They  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  the  rest  of 
the  day.  The  desert  compassed  them  about,  marvel 
lously  changing  shape  and  colour,  and  every  charac 
ter,  with  all  the  noiselessness  of  phantasmagoria.  At 
evening  the  desert  stars  shone  steady  and  unwinking, 


THE    AGREEMENT  257 

like  the  flames  of  candles.  By  moonrise  they  came 
to  the  home  ranch. 

The  buildings  and  corrals  lay  dark  and  silent 
against  the  moonlight  that  made  of  the  plain  a  sea 
of  mist.  The  two  men  unsaddled  their  horses  and 
turned  them  loose  in  the  wire-fenced  "  pasture," 
the  necessary  noises  of  their  movements  sounding 
sharp  and  clear  against  the  velvet  hush  of  the  night. 
After  a  moment  they  walked  stiffly  past  the  sheds 
and  cook  shanty,  past  the  men's  bunk  houses,  and 
the  tall  windmill  silhouetted  against  the  sky,  to  the 
main  building  of  the  home  ranch  under  its  great 
cottonwoods.  There  a  light  still  burned,  for  this 
was  the  third  day,  and  Buck  Johnson  awaited  his 
foreman. 

Jed  Parker  pushed  in  without  ceremony. 

"Here's  your  man,  Buck,"  said  he. 

The  stranger  had  stepped  inside  and  carefully 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  The  lamplight  threw 
into  relief  the  bold,  free  lines  of  his  face,  the  details 
of  his  costume  powdered  thick  with  alkali,  the  shiny 
butts  of  the  two  guns  in  their  open  holsters  tied  at 
the  bottom.  Equally  it  defined  the  resolute  counte 
nance  of  Buck  Johnson  turned  up  in  inquiry.  The 


258  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

two  men  examined  each  other — and  liked  each  othc 
at  once. 

"  How  are  you,"  greeted  the  cattleman. 

"  Good-evening,"  responded  the  stranger. 

"  Sit  down,"  invited  Buck  Johnson. 

The  stranger  perched  gingerly  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair,  with  an  appearance  less  of  embarrassment  than 
of  habitual  alertness. 

"  You'll  take  the  j  ob  ?  "  inquired  the  Senor. 

"  I  haven't  heard  what  it  is,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Parker  here ?  " 

"  Said  you'd  explain." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Buck  Johnson.  He  paused  a  mo 
ment,  collecting  his  thoughts.  "  There's  too  much 
cattle-rustling  here.  I'm  going  to  stop  it.  I've  got 
good  men  here  ready  to  take  the  job,  but  no  one  who 
knows  the  country  south.  Three  days  ago  I  had  a 
bunch  of  cattle  stolen  right  here  from  the  home- 
ranch  corrals,  and  by  one  man,  at  that.  It  wasn't 
much  of  a  bunch — about  twenty  head — but  I'm  go 
ing  to  make  a  starter  right  here,  and  now.  I'm  going 
to  get  that  bunch  back,  and  the  man  who  stole  them, 
if  I  have  to  go  to  hell  to  do  it.  And  I'm  going  to 
do  the  same  with  every  case  of  rustling  that  comes 


THE     AGREEMENT  259 

'  up  from  now  on.  I  don't  care  if  it's  only  one  cow, 
I'm  going  to  get  it  back — every  trip.  Now,  I  want 
to  know  if  you'll  lead  a  posse  down  into  the  south 
country  and  bring  out  that  last  bunch,  and  the 
man  who  rustled  them?  " 

"  I  don't  know "  hesitated  the  stranger. 

"  I  offer  you  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold  if  you'll 
bring  back  those  cows  and  the  man  who  stole  'em," 
repeated  Buck  Johnson.  "  And  I'll  give  you  all  the 
'  horses  and  men  you  think  you  need." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  replied  the  two-gun  man  promptly. 

"  Good !  "  cried  Buck  Johnson,  "  and  you  better 
start  to-morrow." 

"  I  shall  start  to-night — right  now." 

"  Better  yet.  How  many  men  do  you  want,  and 
grub  for  how  long?  " 

"  I'll  play  her  a  lone  hand." 

"Alone!"  exclaimed  Johnson,  his  confidence  visi 
bly  cooling.  "  Alone !  Do  you  think  you  can  make 
her?" 

"  I'll  be  back  with  those  cattle  in  not  more  than 
ten  days." 

"  And  the  man,"  supplemented  the  Senor. 

"  And  the  man.  What's  more,  I  want  that  money 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

here  when  I  come  in.  I  don't  aim  to  stay  in  this 
country  over  night." 

A  grin  overspread  Buck  Johnson's  countenance. 
He  understood. 

"Climate  not  healthy  for  you?"  he  hazarded. 
"  I  guess  you'd  be  safe  enough  all  right  with  us. 
But  suit  yourself.  The  money  will  be  here." 

"  That's  agreed?  "  insisted  the  two-gun  man. 

«  Sure." 

"  I  want  a  fresh  horse — I'll  leave  mine — he's  a 
good  one.  I  want  a  little  grub." 

"  All  right.  Parker'll  fit  you  out." 

The  stranger  rose. 

"  I'll  see  you  in  about  ten  days." 

"Good  luck,"  Senor  Buck  Johnson  wished  him. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

i 

THE    ACCOMPLISHMENT 

THE  next  morning  Buck  Johnson  took  a  trip  down 
into  the  "  pasture  "  of  five  hundred  wire- fenced  acres. 

"  He  means  business,"  he  confided  to  Jed  Parker, 
on  his  return.  "  Thai  cavallo  of  his  is  a  heap  sight 
better  than  the  Shorty  horse  we  let  him  take.  Jed, 
you  found  your  man  with  nerve,  all  right.  How  did 
you  do  it  ?  " 

The  two  settled  down  to  wait,  if  not  with  confi 
dence,  at  least  with  interest.  Sometimes,  remember 
ing  the  desperate  character  of  the  outlaws,  their 
fierce  distrust  of  any  intruder,  the  wildness  of  the 
country,  Buck  Johnson  and  his  foreman  inclined  to 
the  belief  that  the  stranger  had  undertaken  a  task 
beyond  the  powers  of  any  one  man.  Again,  remem 
bering  the  stranger's  cool  grey  eye,  the  poise  of  his 
demeanour,  the  quickness  of  his  movements,  and  the 
two  guns  with  tied  holsters  to  permit  of  easy  with 
drawal,  they  were  almost  persuaded  that  he  might 
win. 

96] 


262  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  He's  one  of  those  long-chance  fellows,"  surmis< 
Jed.  "  He  likes  excitement.  I  see  that  by  the 
he  takes  up  with  my  knife  play.  He'd  rather  leave 
his  hide  on  the  fence  than  stay  in  the  corral." 

"  Well,  he's  all  right,"  replied  Senor  Buck  John 
son,  "  and  if  he  ever  gets  back,  which  same  I'm  some 
doubtful  of,  his  dinero  '11  be  here  for  him." 

In  pursuance  of  this  he  rode  in  to  Willets,  where 
shortly  the  overland  train  brought  him  from  Tucson 
the  five  thousand  dollars  in  double  eagles. 

In  the  meantime  the  regular  life  of  the  ranch  wenl 
on.  Each  morning  Sang,  the  Chinese  cook,  rang  the 
great  bell,  summoning  the  men.  They  ate,  and  the 
caught  up  the  saddle  horses  for  the  day,  turning 
those  not  wanted  from  the  corral  into  the  pastu] 
Shortly  they  jingled  away  in  different  direction? 
two  by  two,  on  the  slow  Spanish  trot  of  the  cow- 
puncher.  All  day  long  thus  they  would  ride,  without 
food  or  water  for  man  or  beast,  looking  the  r 
identifying  the  stock,  branding  the  young  calves, 
examining  generally  into  the  state  of  affairs,  gazing 
always  with  grave  eyes  on  the  magnificent,  flaming, 
changing,  beautiful,  dreadful  desert  of  the  Arizona 
plains.  At  evening  when  the  coloured  atmosphere, 


THE     ACCOMPLISHMENT     263 

catching  the  last  glow,  threw  across  the  Chiricahuas 
its  veil  of  mystery,  they  jingled  in  again,  two  by 
two,  untired,  unhasting,  the  glory  of  the  desert  in 
their  deep-set,  steady  eyes. 

And  all  the  day  long,  while  they  were  absent,  the 
cattle,  too,  made  their  pilgrimage,  straggling  in 
singly,  in  pairs,  in  bunches,  in  long  files,  leisurely, 
ruminantly,  without  haste.  There,  at  the  long 
troughs  filled  by  the  windmill  or  the  blindfolded 
pump  mule,  they  drank,  then  filed  away  again  into 
the  mists  of  the  desert.  And  Seiior  Buck  Johnson,  or 
his  foreman,  Parker,  examined  them  for  their  con 
dition,  noting  the  increase,  remarking  the  strays 
from  another  range.  Later,  perhaps,  they,  too,  rode 
abroad.  The  same  thing  happened  at  nine  other 
ranches  from  five  to  ten  miles  apart,  where  dwelt 
other  fierce,  silent  men  all  under  the  authority  of 
Buck  Johnson. 

And  when  night  fell,  and  the  topaz  and  violet 
and  saffron  and  amethyst  and  mauve  and  lilac  had 
faded  suddenly  from  the  Chiricahuas,  like  a  veil  that 
has  been  rent,  and  the  ramparts  had  become  slate- 
grey  and  then  black — the  soft-breathed  night  wan 
dered  here  and  there  over  the  desert,  and  the  land 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

fell  under  an  enchantment  even  stranger  than  the 
day's. 

So  the  days  went  by,  wonderful,  fashioning  the 
ways  and  the  characters  of  men.  Seven  passed.  Buck 
Johnson  and  his  foreman  began  to  look  for  the 
stranger.  Eight,  they  began  to  speculate.  Nine, 
they  doubted.  On  the  tenth  they  gave  him  up — and 
he  came. 

They  knew  him  first  by  the  soft  lowing  of  cattle. 
Jed  Parker,  dazzled  by  the  lamp,  peered  out  from 
the  door,  and  made  him  out  dimly  turning  the  ani 
mals  into  the  corral.  A  moment  later  his  pony's 
hoofs,  impacted  softly  on  the  baked  earth,  he  dropped 
from  the  saddle  and  entered  the  room. 

"  I'm  late,"  said  he  briefly,  glancing  at  the  clock, 
which  indicated  ten ;  "  but  I'm  here." 

His  manner  was  quick  and  sharp,  almost  breath 
less,  as  though  he  had  been  running. 

"Your  cattle  are  in  the  corral:  all  of  them. 
Have  you  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  money  here,"  replied  Buck  Johnson, 
laying  his  hand  against  a  drawer,  "  and  it's  ready 
for  you  when  you've  earned  it.  I  don't  care  so  much 


THE     ACCOMPLISHMENT     265 

for  <rfie  cattle.  What  I  wanted  is  the  man  who  stole 
them.  Did  you  bring  him?  " 

"  Yes,  I  brought  him,"  said  the  stranger.  "  Let's 
see  that  money." 

Buck  Johnson  threw  open  the  drawer,  and  drew 
from  it  the  heavy  canvas  sack. 

"  It's  here.  Now  bring  in  your  prisoner." 

The  two-gun  man  seemed  suddenly  to  loom  large 
in  the  doorway.  The  muzzles  of  his  revolvers  cov 
ered  the  two  before  him.  His  speech  came  short  and 
sharp. 

"  I  told  you  I'd  bring  back  the  cows  and  the  one 
who  rustled  them,"  he  snapped.  "  I've  never  lied  to 
a  man  yet.  Your  stock  is  in  the  corral.  I'll  trouble 
you  for  that  five  thousand.  I'm  the  man  who  stole 
your  cattle!" 


PART    III 
THE    RAWHIDE 


CHAPTER    ONE 

THE   PASSING   OF   THE    COLT'S  FORTY-FIVE 

THE  man  of  whom  I  am  now  to  tell  you  came  to 
Arizona  in  the  early  days  of  Chief  Cochise.  He 
settled  in  the  Sectft  Springs  Valley,  and  there  per 


sisted  in  spite  of  the  devastating  forays  of  that 
Apache.  After  a  time  he  owned  all  the  wells  and 
springs  in  the  valley,  and  so,  naturally,  controlled 
the  grazing  on  that  extensive  free  range.  Once  a 
day  the  cattle,  in  twos  and  threes,  in  bands,  in 
strings,  could  be  seen  winding  leisurely  down  the 
deep-trodden  and  converging  trails  to  the  water 
troughs  at  the  home  ranch,  there  leisurely  to  drink, 
and  then  leisurely  to  drift  away  into  the  saffron  and 
violet  and  amethyst  distances  of  the  desert.  At  ten 
other  outlying  ranches  this  daily  scene  was  repeated. 
All  these  cattle  belonged  to  the  man,  great  by  reason 
of  his  priority  in  the  country,  the  balance  of  his 
even  character,  and  the  grim  determination  of  his 
spirit. 

269 


270  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

When  he  had  first  entered  Soda  Springs  Valley 
his  companions  had  called  him  Buck  Johnson.  Since 
then  his  form  had  squared,  his  eyes  had  steadied 
to  the  serenity  of  a  great  authority,  his  mouth, 
shadowed  by  the  moustache  and  the  beard,  had  closed 
straight  in  the  line  of  power  and  taciturnity.  There 
was  about  him  more  than  a  trace  of  the  Spanish. 
So  now  he  was  known  as  Senor  Johnson,  although 
in  reality  he  was  straight  American  enough. 

Senor  Johnson  lived  at  the  home  ranch  with  a 
Chinese  cook,  and  Parker,  his  foreman.  The  home 
ranch  was  of  adobe,  built  with  loopholes  like  a  fort. 
In  the  obsolescence  of  this  necessity,  other  buildings 
had  sprung  up  unfortified.  An  adobe  bunk-house 
for  the  cow-punchers,  an  adobe  blacksmith  shop,  a 
long,  low  stable,  a  shed,  a  windmill  and  pond-like 
reservoir,  a  whole  system  of  corrals  of  different 
sizes,  a  walled-in  vegetable  garden — these  gathered 
to  themselves  cottonwoods  from  the  moisture  of  their 
being,  and  so  added  each  a  little  to  the  green  spot 
in  the  desert.  In  the  smallest  corral,  between  the 
stable  and  the  shed,  stood  a  buckboard  and  a  heavy 
wagon,  the  only  wheeled  vehicles  about  the  place. 
Under  the  shed  were  rows  of  saddles,  riatas,  spurs 


PASSING     OF     THE     COLT'S     271 

mounted  with  silver,  bits  ornamented  with  the  same 

metal,  curved  short  irons  for  the  range  branding, 

long,  heavy  "  stamps  "  for  the  corral  branding.  Be- 

'  hind  the  stable  lay  the  "  pasture,"  a  thousand  acres 

1  of  desert  fenced  in  with  wire.  There  the  hardy  cow- 

ponies  sought  out  the  sparse,  but  nutritious,  bunch 

grass,  sixty  of  them,  beautiful  as  antelope,  for  they 

were  the  pick  of  Senor  Johnson's  herds. 

And  all  about  lay  the  desert,  shimmering,  chang- 
1  ing,    many-tinted,    wonderful,    hemmed    in    by    the 
mountains  that  seemed  tenuous  and  thin,  like  beauti 
ful  mists,   and  by  the  sky  that  seemed  hard   and 
polished  like  a  turquoise. 

Each  morning  at  six  o'clock  the  ten  cow-punchers 
of  the  home  ranch  drove  the  horses  to  the  corral, 
neatly  roped  the  dozen  to  be  "  kept  up "  for  that 
day,  and  rewarded  the  rest  with  a  feed  of  grain. 
Then  they  rode  away  at  a  little  fox  trot,  two  by 
two.  All  day  long  they  travelled  thus,  conducting 
the  business  of  the  range,  and  at  night,  having  com 
pleted  the  circle,  they  jingled  again  into  the  corral. 
At  the  ten  other  ranches  this  programme  had  been 
duplicated.  The  half -hundred  men  of  Seiior  Johnson's 
outfit  had  covered  the  area  of  a  European  princi- 


272  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

pality.  And  all  of  it,  every  acre,  every  spear  of 
grass,  every  cactus  prickle,  every  creature  on  it, 
practically  belonged  to  Senor  Johnson,  because 
Sefior  Johnson  owned  the  water,  and  without  water 
one  cannot  exist  on  the  desert. 

This  result  had  not  been  gained  without  struggle. 
The  fact  could  be  read  in  the  settled  lines  of  Senor 
Johnson's  face,  and  the  great  calm  of  his  grey  eye. 
Indian  days  drove  him  often  to  the  shelter  of  the 
loopholed  adobe  ranch  house,  there  to  await  the  sol 
diers  from  the  Fort,  in  plain  sight  thirty  miles  away 
on  the  slope  that  led  to  the  foot  of  the  Chiricahuas. 
He  lost  cattle  and  some  men,  but  the  profits  were 
great,  and  in  time  Cochise,  Geronimo,  and  the  lesser 
lights  had  flickered  out  in  the  winds  of  destiny.  The 
sheep  terror  merely  threatened,  for  it  was  soon  dis 
covered  that  with  the  feed  of  Soda  Springs  Valley 
grew  a  burr  that  annoyed  the  flocks  beyond  reason, 
so  the  bleating  scourge  swept  by  forty  miles  away. 
Cattle  rustling  so  near  the  Mexican  line  was  an  easy 
matter.  For  a  time  Senor  Johnson  commanded  an 
armed  band.  He  was  lord  of  the  high,  the  low,  and  the 
middle  justice.  He  violated  international  ethics,  and 
for  the  laws  of  nations  he  substituted  his  own.  One 


PASSING     OF     THE     COLT'S     273 

by  one  he  annihilated  the  thieves  of  cattle,  sometimes 
in  open  fight,  but  oftener  by  surprise  and  deliberate 
massacre.  The  country  was  delivered.  And  then,  with 
indefatigable  energy,  Seiior  Johnson  became  a 
skilled  detective.  Alone,  or  with  Parker,  his  fore 
man,  he  rode  the  country  through,  gathering  evi 
dence.  When  the  evidence  was  unassailable  he 
brought  offenders  to  book.  The  rebranding  through 
a  wet  blanket  he  knew  and  could  prove;  the  ear 
marking  of  an  unbran^led  calf  until  it  could  be 
weaned  he  understood;  the  paring  of  hoofs  to  pre 
vent  travelling  he  could  tell  as  far  as  he  could  see; 
the  crafty  alteration  of  similar  brands — as  when 
a  Mexican  changed  Johnson's  Lazy  Y!  (— — <)  to  a 
Dumb-bell  Bar  (JP-— O) — he  saw  through  at  a 
glance.  In  short,  the  hundred  and  one  petty  tricks 
of  the  sneak-thief  he  ferreted  out,  in  danger  of  his 
life.  Then  he  sent  to  Pho?nix  for  a  Ranger — and  that 
was  the  last  of  the  Dumb-bell  Bar  brand,  or  the 
(O&Q)  Three  Link  Bar  brand,  or  the  (^ES) 
Hour  Glass  Brand,  or  a  half  dozen  others.  The  Soda 
Springs  Valley  acquired  a  reputation  for  good  order. 
Senor  Johnson  at  this  stage  of  his  career  found 


274  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

himself  dropping  into  a  routine.  In  March  began 
the  spring  branding,  then  the  corralling  and  break 
ing  of  the  wild  horses,  the  summer  range-riding,  the 
great  fall  round-up,  the  shipping  of  cattle,  and  the 
riding  of  the  winter  range.  This  happened  over  and 
over  again. 

You  and  I  would  not  have  suffered  from  ennui. 
The  roping  and  throwing  and  branding,  the  wild 
swing  and  dash  of  handling  stock,  the  mad  races  to 
head  the  mustangs,  the  fierce  combats  to  subdue  these 
raging  wild  beasts  to  the  saddle,  the  spectacle  of 
the  round-up  with  its  brutish  multitudes  and  its 
graceful  riders,  the  dust  and  monotony  and  excite 
ment  and  glory  of  the  Trail,  and  especially  the 
hundreds  of  incidental  and  gratuitous  adventures  of 
bears  and  antelope,  of  thirst  and  heat,  of  the  joy 
of  taking  care  of  one's  self — all  these  would  have 
filled  our  days  with  the  glittering,  changing  throng 
of  the  unusual. 

But  to  Senor  Johnson  it  had  become  an  old  story. 
After  the  days  of  construction  the  days  of  accom 
plishment  seemed  to  him  lean.  His  men  did  the  work 
and  reaped  the  excitement.  Senor  Johnson  never 
thought  now  of  riding  the  wild  horses,  of  swinging 


PASSING     OF     THE     COLT'S     275 

the  rope  coiled  at  his  saddle  horn,  or  of  rounding 
ahead  of  the  flying  herds.  His  inspections  were  busi 
ness  inspections.  The  country  was  tame.  The  leather 
chaps  with  the  silver  conchas  hung  behind  the  door. 
The  Colt's  forty-five  depended  at  the  head  of  the 
bed.  Senor  Johnson  rode  in  mufti.  Of  his  cowboy 
days  persisted  still  the  high-heeled  boots  and  spurs, 
the  broad  Stetson  hat,  and  the  fringed  buckskin 
gauntlets. 

The  Colt's  forty-five  had  been  the  last  to  go. 
Finally  one  evening  Senor  Johnson  received  an  ex 
press  package.  He  opened  it  before  the  undemon 
strative  Parker.  It  proved  to  contain  a  pocket 
"  gun  " — a  nickel-plated,  thirty-eight  calibre  Smith 
&  Wesson  "  five-shooter."  Senor  Johnson  examined 
it  a  little  doubtfully.  In  comparison  with  the  six- 
shooter  it  looked  like  a  toy. 

"  How  do  you  like  her  ? "  he  inquired,  handing 
the  weapon  to  Parker. 

Parker  turned  it  over  and  over,  as  a  child  a  rattle. 
Then  he  returned  it  to  its  owner. 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  "  if  ever  you  shoot  me  with 
that  little  old  gun,  and  I  find  it  out  the  same  day, 
I'll  just  raise  hell  with  you!" 


276  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

"  I  don't  reckon  she'd  injure  a  man  much,"  agreed 
the  Senor,  "  but  perhaps  she'd  call  his  attention." 

However,  the  "  little  old  gun  "  took  its  place,  not 
in  Senor  Johnson's  hip  pocket,  but  inside  the  front 
waistband  of  his  trousers,  and  the  old  shiny  Colt's 
forty-five,  with  its  worn  leather  "  Texas  style " 
holster,  became  a  bedroom  ornament. 

Thus,  from  a  frontiersman  dropped  Senor  John 
son  to  the  status  of  a  property  owner.  In  a  general 
way  he  had  to  attend  to  his  interests  before  the  cat 
tlemen's  association ;  he  had  to  arrange  for  the  buy 
ing  and  shipping,  and  the  rest  was  leisure.  He  could 
now  have  gone  away  somewhere  as  far  as  time  went. 
So  can  a  fish  live  in  trees — as  far  as  time  goes. 
And  in  the  daily  riding,  riding,  riding  over  the 
range  he  found  the  opportunity  for  abstract  thought 
which  the  frontier  life  had  crowded  aside. 


CHAPTER    TWO 

THE    SHAPES    OF    ILLUSION 

EVERY  day,  as  always,  Senor  Johnson  rode  abroad 
over  the  land.  His  surroundings  had  before  been 
accepted  casually  as  a  more  or  less  pertinent  setting 
of  action  and  condition.  Now  he  sensed  some  of  the 
fascination  of  the  Arizona  desert. 

He  noticed  many  things  before  unnoticed.  As  he 
jingled  loosely  along  on  his  cow-horse,  he  observed 
how  the  animal  waded  fetlock  deep  in  the  gorgeous 
orange  California  poppies,  and  then  he  looked  up 
and  about,  and  saw  that  the  rich  colour  carpeted 
the  landscape  as  far  as  his  eye  could  reach,  so  that 
it  seemed  as  though  he  could  ride  on  and  on  through 
them  to  the  distant  Chiricahuas.  Only,  close  under 
the  hills,  lay,  unobtrusive,  a  narrow  streak  of  grey. 
And  in  a  few  hours  he  had  reached  the  streak  of  grey, 
and  ridden  out  into  it  to  find  himself  the  centre  of 
a  limitless  alkali  plain,  so  that  again  it  seemed  the 
valley  could  contain  nothing  else  of  importance. 

277 


278  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Looking  back,  Senor  Johnson  could  discern  a  tenu 
ous  ribbon  of  orange — the  poppies.  And  perhaps 
ahead  a  little  shadow  blotted  the  face  of  the  alkali, 
which,  being  reached  and  entered,  spread  like  fire 
until  it,  too,  filled  the  whole  plain,  until  it,  too,  arro 
gated  to  itself  the  right  of  typifying  Soda  Springs 
Valley  as  a  shimmering  prairie  of  mesquite.  Flow 
ered  upland,  dead  lowland,  brush,  cactus,  volcanic 
rock,  sand,  each  of  these  for  the  time  being  occupied 
the  whole  space,  broad  as  the  sea.  In  the  circlet 
of  the  mountains  was  room  for  many  infinities. 

Among  the  foothills  Senor  Johnson,  for  the  first 
time,  appreciated  colour.  Hundreds  of  acres  of  flow 
ers  filled  the  velvet  creases  of  the  little  hills  and 
washed  over  the  smooth,  rounded  slopes  so  accurately 
in  the  placing  and  manner  of  tinted  shadows  that 
the  mind  had  difficulty  in  believing  the  colour  not  to 
have  been  shaded  in  actually  by  free  sweeps  of  some 
gigantic  brush.  A  dozen  shades  of  pinks  and  pur 
ples,  a  dozen  of  blues,  and  then  the  flame  reds,  the 
yellows,  and  the  vivid  greens.  Beyond  were  the 
mountains  in  their  glory  of  volcanic  rocks,  rich  as 
the  tapestry  of  a  Florentine  palace.  And,  modify 
ing  all  the  others,  the  tinted  atmosphere  of  the  south- 


THE     SHAPES     OF    ILLUSION     279 

west,  refracting  the  sun  through  the  infinitesimal 
earth  motes  thrown  up  constantly  by  the  wind  devils 
of  the  desert,  drew  before  the  scene  a  delicate 
and  gauzy  veil  of  lilac,  of  rose,  of  saffron,  of  ame 
thyst,  or  of  mauve,  according  to  the  time  of  day. 
Senor  Johnson  discovered  that  looking  at  the  land 
scape  upside  down  accentuated  the  colour  effects.  It 
amused  him  vastly  suddenly  to  bend  over  his  sad 
dle  horn,  the  top  of  his  head  nearly  touching  his 
horse's  mane.  The  distant  mountains  at  once  started 
out  into  redder  prominence ;  their  shadows  of  purple 
deepened  to  the  royal  colour ;  the  rose  veil  thickened. 

"  She's  the  prettiest  country  God  ever  made ! " 
exclaimed  Senor  Johnson  with  entire  conviction. 

And  no  matter  where  he  went,  nor  into  how  famil 
iar  country  he  rode,  the  shapes  of  illusion  offered 
always  variety.  One  day  the  Chiricahuas  were  a 
tableland;  next  day  a  series  of  castellated  peaks; 
now  an  anvil ;  now  a  saw  tooth ;  and  rarely  they 
threw  a  magnificent  suspension  bridge  across  the 
heavens  to  their  neighbours,  the  ranges  on  the  west. 
Lakes  rippling  in  the  wind  and  breaking  on  the 
shore,  cattle  big  as  elephants  or  small  as  rabbits, 
distances  that  did  not  exist  and  forests  that  never 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

were,  beds  of  lava  along  the  hills  swearing  to  a 
cloud  shadow,  while  the  sky  was  polished  like  a  pre 
cious  stone — these,  and  many  other  beautiful  and 
marvellous  but  empty  shows  the  great  desert  dis 
played  lavishly,  with  the  glitter  and  inconsequence 
of  a  dream.  Senor  Johnson  sat  on  his  horse  in  the 
hot  sun,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  his  elbow  on  the  pom 
mel,  watching  it  all  with  grave,  unshifting  eyes. 

Occasionally,  belated,  he  saw  the  stars,  the  won 
derful  desert  stars,  blazing  clear  and  unflickering, 
like  the  flames  of  candles.  Or  the  moon  worked  her 
necromancies,  hemming  him  in  by  mountains  ten 
thousand  feet  high  through  which  there  was  no  pass. 
And  then  as  he  rode,  the  mountains  shifted  like  the 
scenes  in  a  theatre,  and  he  crossed  the  little  sand 
dunes  out  from  the  dream  country  to  the  adobe  cor 
rals  of  the  home  ranch. 

All  these  things,  and  many  others,  Senor  Johnson 
now  saw  for  the  first  time,  although  he  had  lived 
among  them  for  twenty  years.  It  struck  him  with 
the  freshness  of  a  surprise.  Also  it  reacted  chemi 
cally  on  his  mental  processes  to  generate  a  new 
power  within  him.  The  new  power,  being  as  yet  un- 


THE     SHAPES     OF     ILLUSION     281 

applied,  made  him  uneasy  and  restless  and  a  little 
irritable. 

He  tried  to  show  some  of  his  wonders  to  Parker. 

"  Jed,"  said  he,  one  day,  "  this  is  a  great  country." 

"  You  know  it,"  replied  the  foreman. 

"  Those  tourists  in  their  nickel-plated  Pullmans  call 
this  a  desert.  Desert,  hell !  Look  at  them  flowers ! " 

The  foreman  cast  an  eye  on  a  glorious  silken 
mantle  of  purple,  a  hundred  yards  broad. 

"  Sure,"  he  agreed ;  "  shows  what  we  could  do  if 
we  only  had  a  little  water." 

And  again :  "  Jed,"  began  the  Seiior,  "  did  you 
ever  notice  them  mountains  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  agreed  Jed. 

"  Ain't  that  a  pretty  colour?  " 

"  You  bet,"  agreed  the  foreman ;  "  now  you're  talk 
ing!  I  always  said  they  was  mineralised  enough  to 
make  a  good  prospect." 

This  was  unsatisfactory.  Senor  Johnson  grew 
more  restless.  His  critical  eye  began  to  take  account 
of  small  details.  At  the  ranch  house  one  evening  he, 
on  a  sudden,  bellowed  loudly  for  Sang,  the  Chinese 
servant. 


ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

"  Look  at  these !  "  he  roared,  when  Sang  appeared. 

Sang's  eyes  opened  in  bewilderment. 
"  There,  and  there !  "  shouted  the  cattleman.  "  Look 
at  them  old  newspapers  and  them  gun  rags!  The 
place  is  like  a  cow-yard.  Why  in  the  name  of  heaven 
don't  you  clean  up  here ! " 

"Allee  light,"  babbled  Sang;  «I  clean  him." 

The  papers  and  gun  rags  had  lain  there  unnoticed 
for  nearly  a  year.  Senor  Johnson  kicked  them  sav 
agely. 

"  It's  time  we  took  a  brace  here,"  he  growled? 
"  we're  livin'  like  a  lot  of  Oilers."  * 

i  Oilers :  Greasers — Mexicans 


CHAPTER    THREE 

THE  PAPER  A  YEAR  OLD 

SANG  hnrried  out  for  a  broom.  Senor  Johnson  sat 
where  he  was,  his  heavy,  square  brows  knit.  Sud 
denly  he  stooped,  seized  one  of  the  newspapers, 
drew  near  the  lamp,  and  began  to  read. 

It  was  a  Kansas  City  paper  and,  by  a  strange  co 
incidence,  was  dated  exactly  a  year  before.  The 
sheet  Senor  Johnson  happened  to  pick  up  was  one 
usually  passed  over  by  the  average  newspaper 
reader.  It  contained  only  columns  of  little  two-  and 
three-line  advertisements  classified  as  Help  Wanted, 
Situations  Wanted,  Lost  and  Found,  and  Personal. 
The  latter  items  Senor  Johnson  commenced  to  read 
while  awaiting  Sang  and  the  broom. 

The  notices  were  five  in  number.  The  first  three 
were  of  the  mysterious  newspaper-correspondence 
type,  in  which  Birdie  beseeches  Jack  to  meet  her  at 
the  fountain;  the  fourth  advertised  a  clairvoyant. 
Over  the  fifth  Senor  Johnson  paused  long.  It  read: 


284  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

WANTED. — By  an  intelligent  and  refined  lady  of  pleasing 
appearance,  correspondence  with  a  gentleman  of  means.  Ob 
ject  matrimony. 

Just  then  Sang  returned  with  the  broom  and 
began  noisily  to  sweep  together  the  debris.  The  rus 
tling  of  papers  aroused  Senor  Johnson  from  his 
reverie.  At  once  he  exploded. 

"  Get  out  of  here,  you  debased  Mongolian,"  he 
shouted;  "can't  you  see  I'm  reading?" 

Sang  fled,  sorely  puzzled,  for  the  Senor  was  calm 
and  unexcited  and  aloof  in  his  everyday  habit. 

Soon  Jed  Parker,  tall,  wiry,  hawk-nosed,  deliber 
ate,  came  into  the  room  and  flung  his  broad  hat  and 
spurs  into  the  corner.  Then  he  proceeded  to  light 
his  pipe  and  threw  the  burned  match  on  the  floor. 

"  Been  over  to  look  at  the  Grant  Pass  range,"  he 
announced  cheerfully.  "  She's  no  good.  Drier  than 
cork  legs.  Th'  country  wouldn't  support  three 
horned  toads." 

"  Jed,"  quoth  the  Senor  solemnly,  "  I  wisht  you'd 
hang  up  your  hat  like  I  have.  It  don't  look  good 
there  on  the  floor." 

"Why,  sure,"  agreed  Jed,  with  an  astonished 
stare. 


THE    PAPER    A   YEAR    OLD 

Sang  brought  in  supper  and  slung  it  on  the  red 
and  white  squares  of  oilcloth.  Then  he  moved  the 
lamp  and  retired. 

Senor  Johnson  gazed  with  distaste  into  his  cup. 

"  This  coffee  would  float  a  wedge,"  he  commented 
sourly. 

"  She's  no  puling  infant,"  agreed  the  cheerful 
Jed. 

"  And  this ! "  went  on  the  Senor,  picking  up  what 
purported  to  be  plum  duff :  "  Bog  down  a  few  cur 
rants  in  dough  and  call  her  pudding ! " 

He  ate  in  silence,  then  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
went  to  the  window,  gazing  through  its  grimy  panes 
at  the  mountains,  ethereal  in  their  evening  saffron. 

"  Blamed  Chink,"  he  growled;  "why  don't  he  wash 
these  windows  ?  " 

Jed  laid  down  his  busy  knife  and  idle  fork  to  gaze 
on  his  chief  with  amazement.  Buck  Johnson,  the  aus 
tere,  the  aloof,  the  grimly  taciturn,  the  dangerous, 
to  be  thus  complaining  like  a  querulous  woman ! 

"  Senor,"  said  he,  "  you're  off  your  feed." 

Senor  Johnson  strode  savagely  to  the  table  and 
Bat  down  with  a  bang. 

"I'm  sick  of  it,"  he  growled;  "this  thing  will 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

kill  me  off.  I  might  as  well  go  be  a  buck  nun  and 
be  done  with  it." 

With  one  round-arm  sweep  he  cleared  aside  the 
dishes. 

"  Give  me  that  pen  and  paper  behind  you,"  he 
requested. 

For  an  hour  he  wrote  and  destroyed.  The  floor 
became  littered  with  torn  papers.  Then  he  enveloped 
a  meagre  result.  Parker  had  watched  him  in  silence. 
The  Senor  looked  up  to  catch  his  speculative  eye. 
His  own  eye  twinkled  a  little,  but  the  twinkle  was 
determined  and  sinister,  with  only  an  alloy  of 
humour. 

"  Senor,"  ventured  Parker  slowly,  "  this  event 
sure  knocks  me  hell-west  and  crooked.  If  the  loco 
you  have  culled  hasn't  paralysed  your  speaking  parts, 
would  you  mind  telling  me  what  in  the  name  of 
heaven,  hell,  and  high-water  is  up  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  get  married,"  announced  the  Senor 
calmly. 

"What!"  shouted  Parker;  "who  to?" 

"  To  a  lady,"  replied  the  Senor,  "  an  intelligent 
and  refined  lady — of  pleasing  appearance." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

DREAMS 

ALTHOUGH  the  paper  was  a  year  old,  Senor  John" 
son  in  due  time  received  an  answer  from  Kansas. 
A  correspondence  ensued.  Senor  Johnson  enshrined 
above  the  big  fireplace  the  photograph  of  a  woman. 
Before  this  he  used  to  stand  for  hours  at  a  time 
slowly  constructing  in  his  mind  what  he  had  hitherto 
lacked- — an  ideal  of  woman  and  of  home.  This  ideal 
he  use4  sometimes  to  express  to  himself  and  to  the 
ironical  Jed. 

"  It  must  sure  be  nice  to  have  a  little  woman 
waitin'  for  you  when  you  come  in  off'n  the  desert." 

Or :  ""  Now,  a  woman  would  have  them  windows 
just  blooming  with  flowers  and  white  curtains  and 
such  t*uck." 

Or :  "I  bet  that  Sang  would  get  a  wiggle  on  him 
with  his  little  old  cleaning  duds  if  he  had  a  woman 
ahold  T>f  his  jerk  line." 

Slcrsdy  he  reconstructed  his  life,  the  life  of  the 
in  terms  of  this  hypothesised  feminine  influ- 
98T 


288  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

ence.  Then  matters  came  to  an  understanding. 
Senor  Johnson  had  sent  his  own  portrait.  Estrella 
Sands  wrote  back  that  she  adored  big  black  beards, 
but  she  was  afraid  of  him,  he  had  such  a  fascinating 
bad  eye:  no  woman  could  resist  him.  Senor  Johnson 
at  once  took  things  for  granted,  sent  on  to  Kansas 
a  preposterous  sum  of  "  expense  "  money  and  a  rail 
road  ticket,  and  raided  Goodrich's  store  at  Willets, 
a  hundred  miles  away,  for  all  manner  of  gaudy  car 
pets,  silverware,  fancy  lamps,  works  of  art,  pianos, 
linen,  and  gimcracks  for  the  adornment  of  the  ranch 
house.  Furthermore,  he  offered  wages  more  than 
equal  to  a  hundred  miles  of  desert  to  a  young  Irish 
girl,  named  Susie  O'Toole,  to  come  out  as  house 
keeper,  decorator,  boss  of  Sang  and  another  China 
man,  and  companion  to  Mrs.  Johnson  when  she  should 
arrive. 

Furthermore,  he  laid  off  from  the  range  work 
Brent  Palmer,  the  most  skilful  man  with  horses, 
and  set  him  to  "  gentling  "  a  beautiful  little  sorrel. 
A  sidesaddle  had  arrived  from  El  Paso.  It  was 
"  centre  fire,"  which  is  to  say  it  had  but  the  single 
horsehair  cinch,  broad,  tasselled,  very  genteel  in  its 
suggestion  of  pleasure  use  only.  Brent  could  be  seen 


DREAMS  289 

at  all  times  of  day,  cantering  here  and  there  on  the 
sorrel,  a  blanket  tied  around  his  waist  to  simulate 
the  long  riding  skirt.  He  carried  also  a  sulky  and 
evil  gleam  in  his  eye,  warning  against  undue  levity. 

Jed  Parker  watched  these  various  proceedings 
sardonically. 

Once,  the  baby  light  of  innocence  blue  in  his  eye, 
he  inquired  if  he  would  be  required  to  dress  for  din 
ner. 

"  If  so,"  he  went  on,  "  I'll  have  my  man  brush  up 
my  low-necked  clothes." 

But  Seilor  Johnson  refused  to  be  baited. 

"  Go  on,  Jed,"  said  he ;  "  you  know  you  ain't  got 
clothes  enough  to  dust  a  fiddle." 

The  Senior  was  happy  these  days.  He  showed  it 
by  an  unwonted  joviality  of  spirit,  by  a  slight  but 
evident  unbending  of  his  Spanish  dignity.  No  longer 
did  the  splendour  of  the  desert  fill  him  with  a  vague 
yearning  and  uneasiness.  He  looked  upon  it  confi 
dently,  noting  its  various  phases  with  care,  rejoic 
ing  in  each  new  development  of  colour  and  light,  of 
form  and  illusion,  storing  them  away  in  his  memory 
so  that  their  recurrence  should  find  him  prepared 
to  recognise  and  explain  them.  For  soon  he  would 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

have  someone  by  his  side  with  whom  to  appreciate 
them.  In  that  sharing  he  could  see  the  reason  for 
them,  the  reason  for  their  strange  bitter-sweet  ef 
fects  on  the  human  soul. 

One  evening  he  leaned  on  the  corral  fence,  look 
ing  toward  the  Dragoons.  The  sun  had  set  behind 
them.  Gigantic  they  loomed  against  the  western 
light.  From  their  summits,  like  an  aureola,  radiated 
the  splendour  of  the  dust-moted  air,  this  evening  a 
deep  umber.  A  faint  reflection  of  it  fell  across  the 
desert,  glorifying  the  reaches  of  its  nothingness. 

"  I'll  take  her  out  on  an  evening  like  this,"  quoth 
Sefior  Johnson  to  himself,  "  and  I'll  make  her  keep 
her  eyes  on  the  ground  till  we  get  right  up  by  Run 
ning  Bear  Knob,  and  then  I'll  let  her  look  up  all 
to  once.  And  she'll  surely  enjoy  this  life.  I  bet 
she  never  saw  a  steer  roped  in  her  life.  She 
can  ride  with  me  every  day  out  over  the  range 
and  I'll  show  her  the  busting  and  the  branding  and 
that  band  of  antelope  over  by  the  Tall  Windmill. 
I'll  teach  her  to  shoot,  too.  And  we  can  make  little 
pack  trips  off  in  the  hills  when  she  gets  too  hot — 
up  there  by  Deerskin  Meadows  'mongst  the  high 
peaks." 

He  mused,  turning  over  in  his  mind  a  new  picture 


DREAMS  291 

of  his  own  life,  aims,  and  pursuits  as  modified  by 
the  sympathetic  and  understanding  companionship  of 
a  woman.  He  pictured  himself  as  he  must  seem  to 
her  in  his  different  pursuits.  The  picturesqueness 
pleased  him.  The  simple,  direct  vanity  of  the  man 
— the  wholesome  vanity  of  a  straightforward  nature 
— awakened  to  preen  its  feathers  before  the  idea  of 
the  mate. 

The  shadows  fell.  Over  the  Chiricahuas  flared  the 
evening  star.  The  plain,  self-luminous  with  the  weird 
lucence  of  the  arid  lands,  showed  ghostly.  Jed 
Parker,  coming  out  from  the  lamp-lit  adobe,  leaned 
his  elbows  on  the  rail  in  silent  company  with  his  chief. 
i  He,  too,  looked  abroad.  His  mind's  eye  saw  what  his 
I  body's  eye  had  always  told  him  were  the  insistent 
notes — the  alkali,  the  cactus,  the  sage,  the  mesquite, 
the  lava,  the  choking  dust,  the  blinding  heat,  the 
burning  thirst.  He  sighed  in  the  dim  half  recollec 
tion  of  past  days. 

66 1  wonder  if  she'll  like  the  country  ?  "  he  haz 
arded. 

But  Senor  Johnson  turned  on  him  his  steady  eyes, 
filled  with  the  great  glory  of  the  desert. 

"  Like  the  country ! "  he  marvelled  slowly.  "  Of 
course !  Why  shouldn't  she  ?  " 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

THE    ARRIVAL 

THE  Overland  drew  into  Willets,  coated  from  en 
gine  to  observation  with  white  dust.  A  porter,  in 
strange  contrast  of  neatness,  flung  open  the  vesti 
bule,  dropped  his  little  carpeted  step,  and  turned  to 
assist  someone.  A  few  idle  passengers  gazed  out  on 
the  uninteresting,  flat  frontier  town. 

Senor  Johnson  caught  his  breath  in  amazement. 
"God!  Ain't  she  just  like  her  picture!"  he  ex 
claimed.  He  seemed  to  find  this  astonishing. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  step  forward  to  claim 
her,  so  she  stood  looking  about  her  uncertainly,  he 
leather  suit-case  at  her  feet. 

She  was  indeed  like  the  photograph.  The  sam 
full-curved,  compact  little  figure,  the  same  rounc 
face,  the  same  cupid's  bow  mouth,  the  same  appeal 
ing,  large  eyes,  the  same  haze  of  doll's  hair.  In  a 
moment  she  caught  sight  of  Senor  Johnson  and  tool 
two  steps  toward  him,  then  stopped.  The  Senor  a 
once  came  forward. 


THE    ARRIVAL 

"You're  Mr.  Johnson,  ain't  you?"  she  inquired, 
thrusting  her  little  pointed  chin  forward,  and  so  ele 
vating  her  baby-blue  eyes  to  his. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  acknowledged  formally.  Then, 
after  a  moment's  pause :  "  I  hope  you're  well.  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

The  station  loungers,  augmented  by  all  the  ranch 
men  and  cowboys  in  town,  were  examining  her 
closely.  She  looked  at  them  in  a  swift  side  glance 
that  seemed  to  gather  all  their  eyes  to  hers.  Then, 
satisfied  that  she  possessed  the  universal  admiration, 
she  returned  the  full  force  of  her  attention  to  the 
man  before  her. 

"  Now  you  give  me  your  trunk  checks,"  he  was 
saying,  "  and  then  we'll  go  right  over  and  get  mar 
ried." 

"Oh!"  she  gasped. 

"  That's  right,  ain't  it?"  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  agreed  faintly. 

A  little  subdued,  she  followed  him  to  the  clergy 
man's  house,  where,  in  the  presence  of  Goodrich,  the 
storekeeper,  and  the  preacher's  wife,  the  two  were 
united.  Then  they  mounted  the  buckboard  and  drove 
from  town. 


294  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

Serior  Johnson  said  nothing,  because  he  knew  of 
nothing  to  say.  He  drove  skilfully  and  fast  through 
the  gathering  dusk.  It  was  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
home  ranch,  and  that  hundred  miles,  by  means  of 
five  relays  of  horses  already  arranged  for,  they 
would  cover  by  morning.  Thus  they  would  avoid  the 
dust  and  heat  and  high  winds  of  the  day. 

The  sweet  night  fell.  The  little  desert  winds  laid 
soft  fingers  on  their  cheeks.  Overhead  burned  the 
stars,  clear,  unflickering,  like  candles.  Dimly  could 
be  seen  the  horses,  their  flanks  swinging  steadily  in 
the  square  trot.  Ghostly  bushes  passed  them ;  ghostly 
rock  elevations.  Far,  in  indeterminate  distance,  lay 
the  outlines  of  the  mountains.  Always,  they  seemed 
to  recede.  The  plain,  all  but  invisible,  the  wagon 
trail  quite  so,  the  depths  of  space — these  flung  heavy 
on  the  soul  their  weight  of  mysticism.  The  woman, 
until  now  bolt  upright  in  the  buckboard  seat,  shrank 
nearer  to  the  man.  He  felt  against  his  sleeve  the  deli 
cate  contact  of  her  garment  and  thrilled  to  the  touch. 
A  coyote  barked  sharply  from  a  neighbouring  em 
inence,  then  trailed  off  into  the  long-drawn,  shrill 
howl  of  his  species. 


THE     ARRIVAL  295 

"What  was  that?"  she  asked  quickly,  in  a  sub 
dued  voice. 

"  A  coyote — one  of  them  little  wolves,"  he  ex 
plained. 

The  horses'  hoofs  rang  clear  on  a  hardened  bit  of 
the  alkali  crust,  then  dully  as  they  encountered  again 
the  dust  of  the  plain.  Vast,  vague,  mysterious  in  the 
silence  of  night,  filled  with  strange  influences  breath 
ing  through  space  like  damp  winds,  the  desert  took 
them  to  the  heart  of  her  great  spaces. 

"  Buck,"  she  whispered,  a  little  tremblingly.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  spoken  his  name. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked,  a  new  note  in  his  voice. 

But  for  a  time  she  did  not  reply.  Only  the  con 
tact  against  his  sleeve  increased  by  ever  so  little. 

"  Buck,"  she  repeated,  then  all  in  a  rush  and  with 
a  sob,  "  Oh,  I'm  afraid." 

Tenderly  the  man  drew  her  to  him.  Her  head  fell 
against  his  shoulder  and  she  hid  her  eyes. 

"  There,  little  girl,"  he  reassured  her,  his  big  voice 
rich  and  musical.  "  There's  nothing  to  get  scairt 
of.  I'll  take  care  of  you.  What  frightens  you, 
honey?" 


296  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

She  nestled  close  in  his  arm  with  a  sigh  of  half 
relief. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  laughed,  but  still  with  a  trem 
ble  in  her  tones.  "  It's  all  so  big  and  lonesome  and 
strange — and  I'm  so  little." 

"  There,  little  girl,"  he  repeated. 

They  drove  on  and  on.  At  the  end  of  two  hours 
they  stopped.  Men  with  lanterns  dazzled  their  eyes. 
The  horses  were  changed,  and  so  out  again  into  the 
night  where  the  desert  seemed  to  breathe  in  deep, 
mysterious  exhalations  like  a  sleeping  beast. 

Senor  Johnson  drove  his  horses  masterfully  with 
his  one  free  hand.  The  road  did  not  exist,  except 
to  his  trained  eyes.  They  seemed  to  be  swimming 
out,  out,  into  a  vapour  of  night  with  the  wind  of  their 
going  steady  against  their  faces. 

"  Buck,"  she  murmured,  "  I'm  so  tired." 

He  tightened  his  arm  around  her  and  she  went  to 
sleep,  half-waking  at  the  ranches  where  the  relays 
waited,  dozing  again  as  soon  as  the  lanterns  dropped 
behind.  And  Senor  Johnson,  alone  with  his  horses 
and  the  solemn  stars,  drove  on,  ever  on,  into  the 
desert. 

By  greJ  of  the  early  summer  dawn  they  arrived. 


THE  ARRIVAL  297 

The  girl  wakened,  descended,  smiling  uncertainly  at 
Susie  O'Toole,  blinking  somnolently  at  her  surround 
ings.  Susie  put  her  to  bed  in  the  little  southwest 
room  where  hung  the  shiny  Colt's  forty-five  in  its 
worn  leather  "  Texas-style  "  holster.  She  murmured 
incoherent  thanks  and  sank  again  to  sleep,  overcome 
by  the  fatigue  of  unaccustomed  travelling,  by  the 
potency  of  the  desert  air,  by  the  excitement  of 
anticipation  to  which  her  nerves  had  long  been 
strung. 

Senor  Johnson  did  not  sleep.  He  was  tough,  and 
used  to  it.  He  lit  a  cigar  and  rambled  about,  now 
reading  the  newspapers  he  had  brought  with  him, 
now  prowling  softly  about  the  building,  now  visit 
ing  the  corrals  and  outbuildings,  once  even  the 
thousand-acre  pasture  where  his  saddle-horse  knew 
him  and  came  to  him  to  have  its  forehead  rubbed. 

The  dawn  broke  in  good  earnest,  throwing  aside 
its  gauzy  draperies  of  mauve.  Sang,  the  Chinese 
cook,  built  his  fire.  Senor  Johnson  forbade  him  to 
clang  the  rising  bell,  and  himself  roused  the  cow- 
punchers.  The  girl  slept  on.  Senor  Johnson  tip 
toed  a  dozen  times  to  the  bedroom  door.  Once  he 
ventured  to  push  it  open.  He  looked  long  within, 


298  ARIZONA    NIGHTS 

then  shut  it  softly  and  tiptoed  out  into  the  open, 
his  eyes  shining. 

"  Jed,"  he  said  to  his  foreman,  "  you  don't  know 
how  it  made  me  feel.  To  see  her  lying  there  so  pink 
and  soft  and  pretty,  with  her  yaller  hair  all  tumbled 
about  and  a  little  smile  on  her — there  in  my  old  bed, 

with  my  old  gun  hanging  over  her  that  way By 

Heaven,  Jed,  it  made  me  feel  almost  holy!  " 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE   WAGON   TIRE 

ABOUT  noon  she  emerged  from  the  room,  fully  re 
freshed  and  wide  awake.  She  and  Susie  O'Toole  had 
unpacked  at  least  one  of  the  trunks,  and  now  she 
stood  arrayed  in  shirt-waist  and  blue  skirt. 

At  once  she  stepped  into  the  open  air  and  looked 
about  her  with  considerable  curiosity. 

"  So  this  is  a  real  cattle  ranch,"  was  her  comment. 

Senor  Johnson  was  at  her  side  pressing  on  her 
with  boyish  eagerness  the  sights  of  the  place.  She 
patted  the  stag  hounds  and  inspected  the  garden. 
Then,  confessing  herself  hungry,  she  obeyed  with 
alacrity  Sang's  call  to  an  early  meal.  At  the  table 
she  ate  coquettishly,  throwing  her  birdlike  side- 
glances  at  the  man  opposite. 

"  I  want  to  see  a  real  cowboy,"  she  announced,  as 
she  pushed  her  chair  back. 

"Why,  sure!"  cried  Senor  Johnson  joyously. 
"  Sang !  hi,  Sang !  Tell  Brent  Palmer  to  step  in  here 
a  minute." 

299 


300  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

After  an  interval  the  cowboy  appeared,  mincing 
in  on  his  high-heeled  boots,  his  silver  spurs  jingling, 
the  fringe  of  his  chaps  impacting  softly  on  the 
leather.  He  stood  at  ease,  his  broad  hat  in  both 
hands,  his  dark,  level  brows  fixed  on  his  chief. 

"  Shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Johnson,  Brent.  I  called 
you  in  because  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  a  real  cow- 
puncher." 

"  Oh,  Buck!  "  cried  the  woman. 

For  an  instant  the  cow-puncher's  level  brows  drew 
together.  Then  he  caught  the  woman's  glance  fair. 
He  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  much  to  look  at,"  he  proffered. 

"  That's  not  for  you  to  say,  sir,"  said  Estrella, 
recovering. 

"  Brent,  here,  gentled  your  pony  for  you,"  ex 
claimed  Sefior  Johnson. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Estrella,  "  have  I  a  pony?  How  nice. 
And  it  was  so  good  of  you,  Mr.  Brent.  Can't  I  see 
him?  I  want  to  see  him.  I  want  to  give  him  a  piece 
of  sugar."  She  fumbled  in  the  bowl. 

"  Sure  you  can  see  him.  I  don't  know  as  he'll  eat 
sugar.  He  ain't  that  educated.  Think  you  could 
teach  him  to  eat  sugar,  Brent?" 

" 1  reckon,"  replied  the  cowboy. 


THE     WAGON     TIRE  301 

They  went  out  toward  the  corral,  the  cowboy  join 
ing  them  as  a  matter  of  course.  Estrella  demanded 
explanations  as  she  went  along.  Their  progress  was 
leisurely.  The  blindfolded  pump  mule  interested  her. 

"  And  he  goes  round  and  round  that  way  all  day 
without  stopping,  thinking  he's  really  getting  some 
where  ! "  she  marvelled.  "  I  think  that's  a  shame ! 
Poor  old  fellow,  to  get  fooled  that  way ! " 

"  It  is  some  foolish,"  said  Brent  Palmer,  "  but 
he  ain't  any  worse  off  than  a  cow-pony  that  hikes 
out  twenty  mile  and  then  twenty  back 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  admitted  Estrella. 

"  And  we  got  to  have  water,  you  know,"  added 
Senor  Johnson. 

Brent  rode  up  the  sorrel  bareback.  The  pretty 
animal,  gentle  as  a  kitten,  nevertheless  planted  his 
forefeet  strongly  and  snorted  at  Estrella. 

"  I  reckon  he  ain't  used  to  the  sight  of  a  woman," 
proffered  the  Senor,  disappointed.  "  He'll  get  used 
to  you.  Go  up  to  him  soft-like  and  rub  him  between 
the  eyes." 

Estrella  approached,  but  the  pony  jerked  back  his 
head  with  every  symptom  of  distrust.  She  forgot 
the  sugar  she  had  intended  to  offer  him. 

"  He's  a  perfect  beauty,"  she  said  at  last,  "  but, 


302  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

my!  I'd  never  dare  ride  him.  I'm  awful  scairt  of 
horses." 

"  Oh,  he'll  come  around  all  right,"  assured  Brent 
easily.  "  I'll  fix  him." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Brent,"  she  exclaimed,  "  don't  think  I 
don't  appreciate  what  you've  done.  I'm  sure  he's 
really  just  as  gentle  as  he  can  be.  It's  only  that 
I'm  foolish." 

"  I'll  fix  him,"  repeated  Brent. 

The  two  men  conducted  her  here  and  there,  show 
ing  her  the  various  institutions  of  the  place.  A  man 
bent  near  the  shed  nailing  a  shoe  to  a  horse's  hoof. 

"  So  you  even  have  a  blacksmith ! "  said  Estrella. 
Her  guides  laughed  amusedly. 

"  Tommy,  come  here ! "  called  the  Senor. 

The  horseshoer  straightened  up  and  approached. 
He  was  a  lithe,  curly-haired  young  boy,  with  a 
reckless,  humorous  eye  and  a  smooth  face,  now  red 
from  bending  over. 

"  Tommy,  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Johnson,"  said 
the  Sefior.  "  Mrs.  Johnson  wants  to  know  if  you're, 
the  blacksmith."  He  exploded  in  laughter. 

"  Oh,  Buck!  "  cried  Estrella  again. 

46  No,  ma'am,"  answered  the  boy  directly ;  te  I'm 


THE     WAGON     TIRE  303 

just  tacking  a  shoe  on  Danger,  here.  We  all  does 
our  own  blacksmithing." 

His  roving  eye  examined  her  countenance  respect 
fully,  but  with  admiration.  She  caught  the  admira 
tion  and  returned  it,  covertly  but  unmistakably, 
pleased  that  her  charms  were  appreciated. 

They  continued  their  rounds.  The  sun  was  very 
hot  and  the  dust  deep.  A  woman  would  have 
known  that  these  things  distressed  Estrella.  She 
picked  her  way  through  the  debris ;  she  dropped  her 
head  from  the  burning;  she  felt  her  delicate  gar 
ments  moistening  with  perspiration,  her  hair  dampen 
ing;  the  dust  sifted  up  through  the  air.  Over  in 
the  large  corral  a  broncho  buster,  assisted  by  two 
of  the  cowboys,  was  engaged  in  roping  and  throw 
ing  some  wild  mustangs.  The  sight  was  wonderful, 
but  here  the  dust  billowed  in  clouds. 

"  I'm  getting  a  little  hot  and  tired,"  she  con^ 
fessed  at  last.  "  I  think  I'll  go  to  the  house." 

But  near  the  shed  she  stopped  again,  interested 
in  spite  of  herself  by  a  bit  of  repairing  Tommy  had 
under  way.  The  tire  of  a  wagon  wheel  had  been 
destroyed.  Tommy  was  mending  it.  On  the  ground 
lay  a  fresh  cowhide.  From  this  Tommy  was  cutting  a 


304  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

wide  strip.  As  she  watched  he  measured  the  strip 
around  the  circumference  of  the  wheel. 

"  He  isn't  going  to  make  a  tire  of  that ! "  she  ex^ 
claimed,  incredulously. 

"  Sure,"  replied  Senor  Johnson. 

"Will  it  wear?" 

"  It'll  wear  for  a  month  or  so,  till  we  can  get  an 
other  from  town." 

Estrella  advanced  and  felt  curiously  of  the  raw 
hide.  Tommy  was  fastening  it  to  the  wheel  at  the 
ends  only. 

"  But  how  can  it  stay  on  that  way  ?  "  she  ob j  ected. 
"  It'll  come  right  off  as  soon  as  you  use  it." 

"  It'll  harden  on  tight  enough." 

"Why?"  she  persisted.  "Does  it  shrink  much 
when  it  dries?  " 

Senor  Johnson  stared  to  see  if  she  might  be  jok 
ing.  "Does  it  shrink?"  he  repeated  slowly.  "There 
ain't  nothing  shrinks  more,  nor  harder.  It'll  mighty 
nigh  break  that  wood." 

Estrella,  incredulous,  interested,  she  could  not 
have  told  why,  stooped  again  to  feel  the  soft,  yield 
ing  hide.  She  shook  her  head. 

"You're  joking  me  because  I'm  a  tenderfoot," 
she  accused  brightly.  "  I  know  it  dries  hard,  and  I'll 


THE     WAGON     TIRE  305 

believe  it  shrinks  a  lot,  but  to  break  wood — that's 
piling  it  on  a  little  thick." 

"  No,  that's  right,  ma'am,"  broke  in  Brent  Palmer. 
"It's  awful  strong.  It  pulls  like  a  horse  when  the 
desert  sun  gets  on  it.  You  wrap  anything  up  in  a 
piece  of  that  hide  and  see  what  happens.  Some  time 
you  take  and  wrap  a  piece  around  a  potato  and  put 
her  out  in  the  sun  and  see  how  it'll  squeeze  the  water 
out  of  her." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  she  appealed  to  Tommy.  "  I  can't 
tell  when  they  are  making  fun  of  me." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that's  right,"  he  assured  her. 

Estrella  passed  a  strip  of  the  flexible  hide  play 
fully  about  her  wrists. 

"  And  if  I  let  that  dry  that  way  I'd  be  handcuffed 
hard  and  fast,"  she  said. 

"  It  would  cut  you  down  to  the  bone,"  supple 
mented  Brent  Palmer. 

She  untwisted  the  strip,  and  stood  looking  at  it, 
her  eyes  wide. 

"  I— I  don't  know  why "  she  faltered.  "  The 

thought  makes  me  a  little  sick.  Why,  isn't  it  queer? 
Ugh !  it's  like  a  snake ! "  She  flung  it  from  her  en 
ergetically  and  turned  toward  the  ranch  house. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

ESTRELLA 

THE  honeymoon  developed  and  the  necessary  adjust 
ments  took  place.  The  latter  Senor  Johnson  had 
not  foreseen ;  and  yet,  when  the  necessity  for  them 
arose,  he  acknowledged  them  right  and  proper. 

"  Course  she  don't  want  to  ride  over  to  Circle  I 
with  us,"  he  informed  his  confidant,  Jed  Parker. 
"  It's  a  long  ride,  and  she  ain't  used  to  riding  yet. 
Trouble  is  I've  been  thinking  of  doing  things  with 
her  just  as  if  she  was  a  man.  Women  are  different. 
They  likes  different  things." 

This  second  idea  gradually  overlaid  the  first  in 
Senor  Johnson's  mind.  Estrella  showed  little  apti 
tude  or  interest  in  the  rougher  side  of  life.  Her  hus 
band's  statement  as  to  her  being  still  unused  to  riding 
was  distinctly  a  euphemism.  Estrella  never  arrived 
at  the  point  of  feeling  safe  on  a  horse.  In  time  she 
gave  up  trying,  and  the  sorrel  drifted  back  to  cow- 
punching.  The  range  work  she  never  understoodr 

306 


ESTRELLA  307 

As  a  spectacle  it  imposed  itself  on  her  interest  for  a 
week;  but  since  she  could  discover  no  real  and  vital 
concern  in  the  welfare  of  cows,  soon  the  mere  out 
ward  show  became  an  old  story.  Estrella's  sleek  na 
ture  avoided  instinctively  all  that  interfered  with 
bodily  well-being.  When  she  was  cool  and  well-fed 
and  not  thirsty,  and  surrounded  by  a  proper  degree 
of  feminine  daintiness,  then  she  was  ready  to  amuse 
herself.  But  she  could  not  understand  the  desirability 
of  those  pleasures  for  which  a  certain  price  in  dis 
comfort  must  be  paid.  As  for  firearms,  she  confessed 
herself  frankly  afraid  of  them.  That  was  the  point 
at  which  her  intimacy  with  them  stopped. 

The  natural  level  to  which  these  waters  fell  is 
easily  seen.  Quite  simply,  the  Senor  found  that  a 
wife  does  not  enter  fully  into  her  husband's  worka 
day  life.  The  dreams  he  had  dreamed  did  not  come 
true. 

This  was  at  first  a  disappointment  to  him,  of 
course,  but  the  disappointment  did  not  last.  Senor 
Johnson  was  a  man  of  sense,  and  he  easily  modified 
his  first  scheme  of  married  life. 

"  She'd  get  sick  of  it,  and  I'd  get  sick  of  it,"  he 
formulated  his  new  philosophy.  "  Now  I  got  some- 


308  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

thing  to  come  back  to,  somebody  to  look  forward 
And  it's  a  woman;  it  ain't  one  of  these  darn  gangl< 
leg  cowgirls.  The  great  thing  is  to  feel  you  belong 
to  someone;  and  that  someone  nice  and  cool  anc 
fresh  and  purty  is  waitin'  for  you  when  you  come 
in  tired.  It  beats  that  other  little  old  idee  of  mine 
slick  as  a  gun  barrel." 

So,  during  this,  the  busy  season  of  the  range  rid 
ing,  immediately  before  the  great  fall  round-ups 
Sefior  Johnson  rode  abroad  all  day,  and  returned  t< 
his  own  hearth  as  many  evenings  of  the  week  as  he 
could.  Estrella  always  saw  him  coming  and  stood  in 
the  doorway  to  greet  him.  He  kicked  off  his  spurs, 
washed  and  dusted  himself,  and  spent  the  evening 
with  his  wife.  He  liked  the  sound  of  exactly  that 
phrase,  and  was  fond  of  repeating  it  to  himself  in 
a  variety  of  connections. 

"  When  I  get  in  I'll  spend  the  evening  with  nr 
wife."  "  If  I  don't  ride  over  to  Circle  I,  I'll  spend  tl 
evening  with  my  wife,"  and  so  on.  He  had  a  go< 
deal  to  tell  her  of  the  day's  discoveries,  the  state  oi 
the  range,  and  the  condition  of  the  cattle.  To  all  ol 
this  she  listened  at  least  with  patience.  Sefior  Jo] 
son,  like  most  men  who  have  long  delayed  marrii 


ESTRELLA  309 

was  self-centred  without  knowing  it.  His  interest 
in  his  mate  had  to  do  with  her  personality  rather 
than  with  her  doings. 

"  What  you  do  with  yourself  all  day  to-day  ?  '? 
he  occasionally  inquired. 

"  Oh,  there's  lots  to  do,"  she  would  answer,  a  trifle 
listlessly ;  and  this  reply  always  seemed  quite  to  sat 
isfy  his  interest  in  the  subject. 

Senor  Johnson,  with  a  curiously  instant  trans 
formation  often  to  be  observed  among  the  adven 
turous,  settled  luxuriously  into  the  state  of  being  a 
married  man.  Its  smallest  details  gave  him  distinct 
and  separate  sensations  of  pleasure. 

"  I  plumb  likes  it  all,"  he  said.  "  I  likes  havin'  in 
terest  in  some  fool  geranium  plant,  and  I  likes  wor- 
ryin'  about  the  screen  doors  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
plumb  foolishness.  It  does  me  good.  It  feels  like 
stretchin*  your  legs  in  front  of  a  good  warm  fire." 

The  centre,  the  compelling  influence  of  this  new 
state  of  affairs,  was  undoubtedly  Estrella,  and  yet 
it  is  equally  to  be  doubted  whether  she  stood  for  more 
than  the  suggestion.  Senor  Johnson  conducted  his 
entire  life  with  reference  to  his  wife.  His  waking 
hours  were  concerned  only  with  the  thought  of  her9 


310  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

his  every  act  revolved  in  its  orbit  controlled  by  he! 
influence.  Nevertheless  she,  as  an  individual  human 
being,  had  little  to  do  with  it.  Senor  Johnson  re 
ferred  his  life  to  a  state  of  affairs  he  had  himself 
invented  and  which  he  called  the  married  state,  and 
to  a  woman  whose  attitude  he  had  himself  determined 
upon  and  whom  he  designated  as  his  wife.  The  ao 
tual  state  of  affairs — whatever  it  migh^be — he  did 
not  see ;  and  the  actual  woman  supplied  merely  the 
material  medium  necessary  to  the  reality  of  his  idea. 
Whether  Estrella's  eyes  were  interested  or  bored, 
bright  or  dull,  alert  or  abstracted,  contented  or 
afraid,  Senor  Johnson  could  not  have  told  you.  He 
might  have  replied  promptly  enough — that  they  were 
happy  and  loving.  That  is  the  way  Senor  Johnson 
conceived  a  wife's  eyes. 

The  routine  of  life,  then,  soon  settled.  After 
breakfast  the  Senor  insisted  that  his  wife  accompany 
him  on  a  short  tour  of  inspection.  "  A  little 
pasear,"  he  called  it,  "  just  to  get  set  for  the  day." 
Then  his  horse  was  brought,  and  he  rode  away  on 
whatever  business  called  him.  Like  a  true  son  of  the 
alkali,  he  took  no  lunch  with  him,  nor  expected  his 
horse  to  feed  until  his  return.  This  was  an  hour  be- 


ESTRELLA  311 

fore  sunset.  The  evening  passed  as  has  been  de 
scribed.  It  was  all  very  simple. 

When  the  business  hung  close  to  the  ranch  house 
— as  in  the  bronco  busting,  the  rebranding  of 
bought  cattle,  and  the  like — he  was  able  to  share  his 
wife's  day.  Estrella  conducted  herself  dreamily,  with 
a  slow  smile  for  him  when  his  actual  presence  in 
sisted  on  k$P*  attention.  She  seemed  much  given  to 
staring  out  over  the  desert.  Senor  Johnson,  ap 
preciatively,  thought  he  could  understand  this. 
Again,  she  gave  much  leisure  to  rocking  back  and 
forth  on  the  low,  wide  veranda,  her  hands  idle,  her 
eyes  vacant,  her  lips  dumb.  Susie  O'Toole  had  early 
proved  incompatible  and  had  gone. 

"  A  nice,  contented,  home  sort  of  a  woman,"  said 
Senor  Johnson. 

One  thing  alone  besides  the  desert,  on  which  she 
never  seemed  tired  of  looking,  fascinated  her.  When 
ever  a  beef  was  killed  for  the  uses  of  the  ranch,  she 
commanded  strips  of  the  green  skin.  Then,  like  a 
child,  she  bound  them  and  sewed  them  and  nailed 
them  to  substances  particularly  susceptible  to  their 
constricting  power.  She  choked  the  necks  of  green 
gourds,  she  indented  the  tender  bark  of  cottonwood 


•  - 


312  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

shoots,  sb?  expended  an  apparently  exhaustless  in 
genuity  un  the  fabrication  of  mechanical  devices 
whose  principle  answered  to  the  pulling  of  the  dry 
ing  rawhide.  And  always  along  the  adobe  fence  could 
be  seen  a  long  row  of  potatoes  bound  in  skin,  some 
of  them  fresh  and  smooth  and  round ;  some  sweating 
in  the  agony  of  squeezing;  some  wrinkled  and  dry 
and  little,  the  last  drops  of  life  tortured  out  of 
them.  Sefior  Johnson  laughed  good-humouredly  at 
these  toys,  puzzled  to  explain  their  fascination  for 
his  wife. 

"  They're  sure  an  amusing  enough  contraption, 
honey,"  said  he,  "  but  what  makes  you  stand  out 
there  in  the  hot  sun  staring  at  them  that  way?  It's 
cooler  on  the  porch." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Estrella,  helplessly,  turn 
ing  her  slow,  vacant  gaze  on  him.  Suddenly  she 
shivered  in  a  strong  physical  revulsion.  "  I  don't 
know ! "  she  cried  with  passion. 

After  they  had  been  married  about  a  month  Seiior 
Johnson  found  it  necessary  to  drive  into  Willets. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go,  too,  and  buy  some 
duds?"  he  asked  Estrella. 

"Oh!"  she  cried  strangely.  "When?" 


ESTRELLA  313 

"  Day  after  to-morrow." 

The  trip  decided,  her  entire  attitude  changed.  The 
vacancy  of  her  gaze  lifted;  her  movements  quick 
ened  ;  she  left  off  staring  at  the  desert,  and  her  raw 
hide  toys  were  neglected.  Before  starting,  Senor 
Johnson  gave  her  a  check  book.  He  explained  that 
there  were  no  banks  in  Willets,  but  that  Goodrich, 
the  storekeeper,  would  honour  her  signature. 

"  Buy  what  you  want  to,  honey,"  said  he.  "  Tear 
her  wide  open.  I'm  good  for  it." 

"How  much  can  I  draw?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  As  much  as  you  want  to,"  he  replied  with  em 
phasis. 

"  Take  care " — she  poised  before  him  with  the 
check  book  extended — "  I  may  draw — I  might  draw 
fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Not  out  of  Goodrich,"  he  grinned ;  "  you'd  bust 
the  game.  But  hold  him  up  for  the  limit,  anyway." 

He  chuckled  aloud,  pleased  at  the  rare,  bird-like 
coquetry  of  the  woman.  They  drove  to  Willets.  It 
took  them  two  days  to  go  and  two  days  to  return.  Es- 
trella  went  through  the  town  in  a  cyclone  burst  of 
enthusiasm,  'saw  everything,  bought  everything,  ex 
hausted  everything  in  two  hours.  Willets  was  not  a 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

large  place.  On  her  return  to  the  ranch  she  sat  down 
at  once  in  the  rocking-chair  on  the  veranda.  Her 
hands  fell  into  her  lap.  She  stared  out  over  the 
desert. 

Senor  Johnson  stole  up  behind  her,  clumsy  as  a 
playful  bear.  His  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  hers 
to  where  a  cloud  shadow  lay  across  the  slope,  heavy, 
palpable,  untransparent,  like  a  blotch  of  ink. 

"  Pretty,  isn't  it,  honey?  "  said  he.  "  Glad  to  get 
back?" 

She  smiled  at  him  her  vacant,  slow  smile. 

"  Here's  my  check  book,"  she  said ;  "  put  it  away 
for  me.  I'm  through  with  it." 

"  I'll  put  it  in  my  desk,"  said  he.  "  It's  in  the  left- 
hand  cubby-hole,"  he  called  from  inside. 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied. 

He  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  fondly  at  her 
unconscious  shoulders  and  the  pose  of  her  blonde 
head  thrown  back  against  the  high  rocking-chair. 

"  That's  the  sort  of  a  woman,  after  all,"  said 
Senor  Johnson.  "  No  blame  fuss  about  her." 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

THE    ROUND-UP 

THIS,  as  you  well  may  gather,  was  in  the  summer 
routine.  Now  the  time  of  the  great  fall  round-up 
drew  near.  The  home  ranch  began  to  bustle  in  prep 
aration. 

All  through  Cochise  County  were  short  mountain 
ranges  set  down,  apparently  at  random,  like  a  child's 
blocks.  In  and  out  between  them  flowed  the  broad, 
plain-like  valleys.  On  the  valleys  were  the  various 
ranges,  great  or  small,  controlled  by  the  different 
individuals  of  the  Cattlemen's  Association.  During 
the  year  an  unimportant,  but  certain,  shifting  of 
stock  took  place.  A  few  cattle  of  Senor  Johnson's 
Lazy  Y  eluded  the  vigilance  of  his  riders  to  drift 
over  through  the  Grant  Pass  and  into  the  ranges 
of  his  neighbour;  equally,  many  of  the  neighbour's 
steers  watered  daily  at  Senor  Johnson's  troughs. 
It  was  a  matter  of  courtesy  to  permit  this,  but  one 
of  the  reasons  for  the  fall  round-up  was  a  redistribu- 

315 


316  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

tion  to  the  proper  ranges.  Each  cattle-owner  sent 
an  outfit  to  the  scene  of  labour.  The  combined  out 
fits  moved  slowly  from  one  valley  to  another,  cutting 
out  the  strays,  branding  the  late  calves,  collecting 
for  the  owner  of  that  particular  range  all  his  stock, 
that  he  might  select  his  marketable  beef.  In  turn 
each  cattleman  was  host  to  his  neighbours  and  their 
men. 

This  year  it  had  been  decided  to  begin  the  circle 
of  the  round-up  at  the  C  O  Bar,  near  the  banks  of 
the  San  Pedro.  Thence  it  would  work  eastward, 
wandering  slowly  in  north  and  south  deviation,  to 
include  all  the  country,  until  the  final  break-up  would 
occur  at  the  Lazy  Y. 

The  Lazy  Y  crew  was  to  consist  of  four  men, 
thirty  riding  horses,  a  "  chuck  wagon,"  and  cook. 
These,  helping  others,  and  receiving  help  in  turn, 
would  suffice,  for  in  the  round-up  labour  was  pooled 
to  a  common  end.  With  them  would  ride  Jed  Parker, 
to  safeguard  his  master's  interests. 

For  a  week  the  punchers,  in  their  daily  rides, 
gathered  in  the  range  ponies.  Senor  Johnson  owned 
fifty  horses  which  he  maintained  at  the  home  ranch 
for  every-day  riding,  two  hundred  broken  saddle 


THE     ROUND-UP  317 

animals,  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  range,  except 
when  special  occasion  demanded  their  use,  and  per 
haps  half  a  thousand  quite  unbroken — brood  mares, 
stallions,  young  horses,  broncos,  and  the  like.  At 
this  time  of  year  it  was  his  habit  to  corral  all  those 
saddlewise  in  order  to  select  horses  for  the  round-ups 
and  to  replace  the  ranch  animals.  The  latter  he 
turned  loose  for  their  turn  at  the  freedom  of  the 
range. 

The  horses  chosen,  next  the  men  turned  their 
attention  to  outfit.  Each  had,  of  course,  his  saddle, 
spurs,  and  "  rope."  Of  the  latter  the  chuck  wagon 
carried  many  extra.  That  vehicle,  furthermore, 
transported  such  articles  as  the  blankets,  the 
tarpaulins  under  which  to  sleep,  the  running  irons 
for  branding,  the  cooking  layout,  and  the  men's  per 
sonal  effects.  All  was  in  readiness  to  move  for  the 
six  weeks'  circle,  when  a  complication  arose.  JecS 
Parker,  while  nimbly  escaping  an  irritated  steer, 
twisted  the  high  heel  of  his  boot  on  the  corral  fence. 
He  insisted  the  injury  amounted  to  nothing.  Senor 
Johnson,  however,  disagreed. 

"  It  don't  amount  to  nothing,  Jed,"  he  pronounced, 
after  manipulation,  "  but  she  might  make  a  good 


318  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

able-bodied  injury  with  a  little  coaxing.  Rest  her 
a  week  and  then  you'll  be  all  right." 

"  Rest  her,  the  devil !  "  growled  Jed ;  "  who's  going 
to  San  Pedro?" 

"  I  will,  of  course,"  replied  the  Senor  promptly. 
"  Didje  think  we'd  send  the  Chink?  " 

"  I  was  first  cousin  to  a  Yaqui  jackass  for  sendin' 
young  Billy  Ellis  out.  He'll  be  back  in  a  week.  He'd 
do." 

"  So'd  the  President,"  the  Senor  pointed  out ;  "  I 
hear  he's  had  some  experience." 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  to  go,"  objected  Jed. 
"  There's  the  missis."  He  shot  a  glance  sideways  at 
his  chief. 

"  I  guess  she  and  I  can  stand  it  for  a  week," 
scoffed  the  latter.  "  Why,  we're  old  married  folks 
by  now.  Besides,  you  can  take  care  of  her." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Jed  Parker,  a  little  grimly. 


CHAPTER   NINE 
THE  LONG  TRAIL 

THE  round-up  crew  started  early  the  next  morning, 
just  about  sun-up.  Senor  Johnson  rode  first,  merely 
to  keep  out  of  the  dust.  Then  followed  Tom  Rich, 
jogging  along  easily  in  the  cow-puncher's  "  Spanish 
trot,"  whistling  soothingly  to  quiet  the  horses,  giving 
a  lead  to  the  band  of  saddle  animals  strung  out 
loosely  behind  him.  These  moved  on  gracefully  and 
lightly  in  the  manner  of  the  unburdened  plains  horse, 
half  decided  to  follow  Tom's  guidance,  half  inclined 
to  break  to  right  or  left.  Homer  and  Jim  Lester 
flanked  them,  also  riding  in  a  slouch  of  apparent 
laziness,  but  every  once  in  a  while  darting  forward 
like  bullets  to  turn  back  into  the  main  herd  certain 
individuals  whom  the  early  morning  of  the  unwearied 
day  had  inspired  to  make  a  dash  for  liberty.  The 
rear  was  brought  up  by  Jerky  Jones,  the  fourth  cow- 
puncher,  and  the  four-mule  chuck  wagon,  lost  in 
its  own  dust. 

319 


320  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

The  sun  mounted ;  the  desert  went  silently  through 
its  changes.  Wind  devils  raised  straight,  true  col 
umns  of  dust  six,  eight  hundred,  even  a  thousand 
feet  into  the  air.  The  billows  of  dust  from  the  horses 
and  men  crept  and  crawled  with  them  like  a  living 
creature.  Glorious  colour,  magnificent  distance, 
astonishing  illusion,  filled  the  world. 

Senor  Johnson  rode  ahead,  looking  at  these  things. 
The  separation  from  his  wife,  brief  as  it  would  be, 
left  room  in  his  soul  for  the  heart-hunger  which 
beauty  arouses  in  men.  He  loved  the  charm  of  the 
desert,  yet  it  hurt  him. 

Behind  him  the  punchers  relieved  the  tedium  of 
the  march,  each  after  his  own  manner.  In  an  hour 
the  bunch  of  loose  horses  lost  its  early-morning  good 
spirits  and  settled  down  to  a  steady  plodding,  that 
needed  no  supervision.  Tom  Rich  led  them,  now,  in 
silence,  his  time  fully  occupied  in  rolling  Mexican 
cigarettes  with  one  hand.  The  other  three  dropped 
back  together  and  exchanged  desultory  remarks. 
Occasionally  Jim  Lester  sang.  It  was  always  the 
same  song  of  uncounted  verses,  but  Jim  had  a  strange 
fashion  of  singing  a  single  verse  at  a  time.  After 
a  long  interval  he  would  sing  another. 


THE     LONG     TRAIL 

"My  Love  is  a  rider 

And  broncos  he  breaks, 
But  he's  given  up  riding 

And  all  for  my  sake, 
For  he  found  him  a  horse 

And  it  suited  him  so 
That  he  vowed  he'd  ne'er  ride 

Any  other  bronco  !  " 


he  warbled,  and  then  in  the  same  breath  : 

"  Say,  boys,  did  you  get  onto  the  pisano-lookmg 
shorthorn  at  Willets  last  week?  " 
"  Nope." 

66  He  sifted  in  wearin'  one  of  these  hard-boiled 
hats,  and  carryin'  a  brogue  thick  enough  to  skate 
on.  Says  he  wants  a  job  drivin'  team  —  that  he  drives 
a  truck  plenty  back  to  St.  Louis,  where  he  comes 
from.  Goodrich  sets  him  behind  them  little  pinto 
cavallos  he  has.  Say!  that  son  of  a  gun  a  driver! 
He  couldn't  drive  nails  in  a  snow  bank."  An  expres 
sive  free-hand  gesture  told  all  there  was  to  tell  of 
the  runaway.  "  Th'  shorthorn  landed  headfirst  in 
Goldfish  Charlie's  horse  trough.  Charlie  fishes  him 
out.  '  How  the  devil,  stranger,'  says  Charlie,  '  did 
you  come  to  fall  in  here  ?  '  *  You  blamed  fool,'  says 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

the  shorthorn,  just  cryin'  mad,  '  I  didn't  come  to 
fall  in  here,  I  come  to  drive  horses.' ' 
And  then,  without  a  transitory  pause: 

"Oh,  my  Love  has  a  gun 

And  that  gun  he  can  use, 
But  he's  quit  his  gun  fighting 

As  well  as  his  booze. 
And  he's  sold  him  his  saddle, 

His  spurs,  and  his  rope, 
And  there's  no  more  cow-punching 

And  that's  what  I  hope." 

The  alkali  dust,  swirled  back  by  a  little  breeze, 
billowed  up  and  choked  him.  Behind,  the  mules 
coughed,  their  coats  whitening  with  the  powder.  Far 
ahead  in  the  distance  lay  the  westerly  mountains. 
They  looked  an  hour  away,  and  yet  every  man  and 
beast  in  the  outfit  knew  that  hour  after  hour  they 
were  doomed,  by  the  enchantment  of  the  land,  to 
plod  ahead  without  apparently  getting  an  inch 
nearer.  The  only  salvation  was  to  forget  the  moun 
tains  and  to  fill  the  present  moment  full  of  little 
things. 

But  Senor  Johnson,  to-day,  found  himself  unable 
to  do  this.  In  spite  of  his  best  efforts  he  caught  him- 


THE     LONG     TRAIL 

self  straining  toward  the  distant  goal,  becoming 
impatient,  trying  to  measure  progress  by  landmarks 
— in  short  acting  like  a  tenderfoot  on  the  desert,  who 
wears  himself  down  and  dies,  not  from  the  hardship, 
but  from  the  nervous  strain  which  he  does  not  know 
how  to  avoid.  Senor  Johnson  knew  this  as  well  as 
you  and  I.  He  cursed  himself  vigorously,  and  began 
with  great  resolution  to  think  of  something  else. 

He  was  aroused  from  this  by  Tom  Rich,  riding 
alongside.  "  Somebody  coming,  Senor,"  said  he. 

Senor  Johnson  raised  his  eyes  to  the  approaching 
cloud  of  dust.  Silently  the  two  watched  it  until  it 
resolved  into  a  rider  loping  easily  along.  In  fifteen 
minutes  he  drew  rein,  his  pony  dropped  immediately 
from  a  gallop  to  immobility,  he  swung  into  a  grace 
ful  at-ease  attitude  across  his  saddle,  grinned  ami 
ably,  and  began  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"  Billy  Ellis,"  cried  Rich. 

"  That's  me,"  replied  the  newcomer* 

"  Thought  you  were  down  to  Tucson?  " 

« I  was." 

"Thought  you  wasn't  comin'  back  for  a  week 
yet?" 

"  Tommy,"  proffered  Billy  Ellis  dreamily,  "  when 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

you  go  to  Tucson  next  you  watch  out  until  you  sees 
a  little,  squint-eyed  Britisher.  Take  a  look  at  him. 
Then  come  away.  He  says  he  don't  know  nothin' 
about  poker.  Mebbe  he  don't,  but  he'll  outhold  a 
warehouse." 

But  here  Senor  Johnson  broke  in :  "  Billy,  you're 
just  in  time.  Jed  has  hurt  his  foot  and  can't  get 
on  for  a  week  yet.  I  want  you  to  take  charge.  I 
got  a  lot  to  do  at  the  ranch." 

"Ain't  got  my  war-bag,"  objected  Billy. 

"  Take  my  stuff.  I'll  send  yours  on  when  Parker 
goes." 

"All  right." 

"  Well,  so  long." 

"  So  long,  Senor." 

They  moved.  The  erratic  Arizona  breezes  twisted 
the  dust  of  their  going.  Senor  Johnson  watched  them 
dwindle.  With  them  seemed  to  go  the  joy  in  the  old 
life.  No  longer  did  the  long  trail  possess  for  him  its 
ancient  fascination.  He  had  become  a  domestic  man. 

"  And  I'm  glad  of  it,"  commented  Senor  Johnson. 

The  dust  eddied  aside.  Plainly  could  be  seen  the 
swaying  wagon,  the  loose-riding  cowboys,  the 
gleaming,  naked  backs  of  the  herd.  Then  the  veil 


THE     LONG     TRAIL  325 

iclosed  over  them  again.     But  down  the  wind,  faintly, 
in  snatches,  came  the  words  of  Jim  Lester's  song: 

**Oh,  Sam  has  a  gun 

That  has  gone  to  the  bad, 

Which  makes  poor  old  Sammy- 
Feel  pretty  damn  sad, 

For  that  gun  it  shoots  high, 
And  that  gun  it  shoots  low, 

And  it  wabbles  about 

Like   a  bucking  bronco !  " 

Sefior  Johnson   turned   and   struck   spurs   to   his 
willing  pony. 


CHAPTER    TEN 

THE    DISCOVERY 

SENOR  BUCK  JOHNSON  loped  quickly  back  toward 
the  home  ranch,  his  heart  glad  at  this  fortunate 
solution  of  his  annoyance.  The  home  ranch  lay  in 
plain  sight  not  ten  miles  away.  As  Senor  Johnson 
idly  watched  it  shimmering  in  the  heat,  a  tiny  figure 
detached  itself  from  the  mass  and  launched  itself 
in  his  direction. 

"Wonder  what's  eating  him!  "  marvelled  Seiior 
Johnson,  "  — and  who  is  it?  " 

The  figure  drew  steadily  nearer.  In  half  an  hour 
it  had  approached  near  enough  to  be  recognised. 

"Why,  it's  Jed!"  cried  the  Senor,  and  spurred 
his  horse.  "  What  do  you  mean,  riding  out  with  that 
foot?"  he  demanded  sternly,  when  within  hailing 
distance. 

"Foot,  hell!"  gasped  Parker,  whirling  his  horse 
alongside.  "Your  wife's  run  away  witJa  Brent 
Palmer." 


THE     DISCOVERY 

For  fully  ten  seconds  not  the  faintest  indication 
proved  that  the  husband  had  heard,  except  that  he 
lifted  his  bridle-hand,  and  the  well-trained  pony 
stopped. 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  Your  wife's  run  away  with  Brent  Palmer,"  re 
peated  Jed,  almost  with  impatience. 

Again  the  long  pause. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  n  asked  Senor  Johnson,  then. 

**  Know,  hell !  It's  been  going  on  for  a  month. 
Sang  saw  them  drive  off.  They  took  the  buckboard. 
He  heard  'em  planning  it.  He  was  too  scairt  to  tell 
till  they'd  gone.  I  just  found  it  out.  They've  been 
gone  two  hours.  Must  be  going  to  make  the  Lim 
ited."  Parker  fidgeted,  impatient  to  be  off.  "  You're 
wasting  time,"  he  snapped  at  the  motionless  figure. 

Suddenly  Johnson's  face  flamed.  He  reached  from 
his  saddle  to  clutch  Jed's  shoulder,  nearly  pulling 
the  foreman  from  his  pony. 

"You  lie!"  he  cried.  "You're  lying  to  me!  It 
ain't  so!  " 

Parker  made  no  effort  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  painful  grasp.  His  cool  eyes  met  the  blazing 
eyes  of  his  chief. 


353  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

*  I  wisht  I  did  He,  Buck,"  he  said  sadly.  "  I  wisht 
it  wasn't  so.  But  it  is." 

Johnson's  head  snapped  back  to  the  front  with 
a  groan.  The  pony  snorted  as  the  steel  bit  his  flanks, 
leaped  forward,  and  with  head  outstretched,  nostrils 
wide,  the  wicked  white  of  the  bronco  flickering  in 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  struck  the  bee  line  for  the 
home,  ranch.  Jed  followed  as  fast  as  he  was  able. 

On  his  arrival  he  found  his  chief  raging  about 
the  house  like  a  wild  beast.  Sang  trembled  from  a 
quick  and  stormy  interrogatory  in  the  kitchen. 
Chairs  had  been  upset  and  let  lie.  Estrella's  belong 
ings  had  been  tumbled  over.  Senor  Johnson  there 
found  only  too  sure  proof,  in  the  various  lacks,  of  a 
premeditated  and  permanent  flight.  Still  he  hoped; 
and  as  long  as  he  hoped,  he  doubted,  and  the  demons 
of  doubt  tore  him  to  a  frenzy.  Jed  stood  near  the 
door,  his  arms  folded,  his  weight  shifted  to  his  sound 
foot,  waiting  and  wondering  what  the  next  move 
was  to  be. 

Finally,  Senor  Johnson,  struck  with  a  new  idea, 
ran  to  his  desk  to  rummage  in  a  pigeon-hole.  But 
he  found  no  need  to  do  so,  for  lying  on  the  desk 
was  what  he  sought — the  check  book  from  which 


THE     DISCOVERY  329 

Estrella  was  to  draw  on  Goodrich  for  the  money  she 
might  need.  He  fairly  snatched  it  open.  Two  of 
the  checks  had  been  torn  out,  stub  and  all.  And  then 
his  eye  caught  a  crumpled  bit  of  blue  paper  under 
the  edge  of  the  desk. 

He  smoothed  it  out.  The  check  was  made  out  to 
bearer  and  signed  Estrella  Johnson.  It  called  for 
fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Across  the  middle  was  a 
great  ink  blot,  reason  for  its  rejection. 

At  once  Senor  Johnson  became  singularly  and  dan 
gerously  cool. 

"  I  reckon  you're  right,  Jed,"  he  cried  in  his  nat 
ural  voice.  "  She's  gone  with  him.  She's  got  all  her 
traps  with  her,  and  "she's  drawn  on  Goodrich  for 
fifteen  thousand.  And  she  never  thought  of  going 
just  this  time  of  month  when  the  miners  are  in  with 
their  dust,  and  Groodrich  would  be  sure  to  have  that 
much.  That's  friend  Palmer.  Been  going  on  a 
month,  you  say?" 

"  I  couldn't  say  anything,  Buck,"  said  Parker 
anxiously.  "  A  man's  never  sure  enough  about  them 
things  till  afterwards." 

"  I  know,"  agreed  Buck  Johnson ;  "  give  me  a 
light  for  my  cigarette." 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

He  puffed  for  a  moment,  then  rose,  stretching 
his  legs.  In  a  moment  he  returned  from  the  other 
room,  the  old  shiny  Colt's  forty-five  strapped  loosely 
on  his  hip.  Jed  looked  him  in  the  face  with  some 
anxiety.  The  foreman  was  not  deceived  by  the  man's 
easy  manner;  in  fact,  he  knew  it  to  be  symptomatic 
of  one  of  the  dangerous  phases  of  Senor  Johnson's 
character. 

"  What's  up,  Buck?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Just  going  out  for  a  pasear  with  the  little  horse, 
Jed." 

"  I  suppose  I  better  come  along  ?  " 

"  Not  with  your  lame  foot,  Jed." 

The  tone  of  voice  was  conclusive.  Jed  cleared  his 
throat. 

"  She  left  this  for  you,"  said  he,  proffering  an 
envelope.  "  Them  kind  always  writes." 

"  Sure,"  agreed  Senor  Johnson,  stuffing  the  letter 
carelessly  into  his  side  pocket.  He  half  drew  the 
Colt's  from  its  holster  and  slipped  it  back  again. 
"  Makes  you  feel  plumb  like  a  man  to  have  one  of 
these  things  rubbin'  against  you  again,"  he  ob 
served  irrelevantly.  Then  he  went  out,  leaving  the 
foreman  leaning,  chair  tilted,  against  the  wall. 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

THE   CAPTURE 

ALTHOUGH  he  had  left  the  room  so  suddenly,  Senor 
Johnson  did  not  at  once  open  the  gate  of  the  adobe 
wall.  His  demeanour  was  gay,  for  he  was  a  West 
erner,  but  his  heart  was  black.  Hardly  did  he  see 
beyond  the  convexity  of  his  eyeballs. 

The  pony,  warmed  up  by  its  little  run,  pawed  the 
ground,  impatient  to  be  off.  It  was  a  fine  animal, 
clean-built,  deep-chested,  one  of  the  mustang  stock 
descended  from  the  Arabs  brought  over  by  Pizarro. 
Sang  watched  fearfully  from  the  slant  of  the  kitchen 
window.  Jed  Parker,  even,  listened  for  the  beat  of 
the  horse's  hoofs. 

But  Senor  Johnson  stood  stock-still,  his  brain 
absolutely  numb  and  empty.  His  hand  brushed 
against  something  which  fell  to  the  ground.  He 
brought  his  dull  gaze  to  bear  on  it.  The  object 
proved  to  be  a  black,  wrinkled  spheroid,  baked  hard 
as  iron  in  the  sun — one  of  Estrella's  toys,  a  potato 

331 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

squeezed  to  dryness  by  the  constricting  power  of 
the  rawhide.  In  a  row  along  the  fence  were  others. 
To  Sefior  Johnson  it  seemed  that  thus  his  heart  was 
being  squeezed  in  the  fire  of  suffering. 

But  the  slight  movement  of  the  falling  object 
roused  him.  He  swung  open  the  gate.  The  pony 
bowed  his  head  delightedly.  He  was  not  tired,  but 
his  reins  depended  straight  to  the  ground,  and  it 
was  a  point  of  honour  with  him  to  stand.  At  the 
saddle  horn,  in  its  sling,  hung  the  riata,  the  4i  rope  " 
without  which  no  cowman  ever  stirs  abroad,  but 
which  Seilor  Johnson  had  rarely  used  of  late.  Sefior 
Johnson  threw  the  reins  over,  seized  the  pony's  mane 
in  his  left  hand,  held  the  pommel  with  his  right,  and 
so  swung  easily  aboard,  the  pony's  jump  helping  him 
to  the  saddle.  Wheel  tracks  led  down  the  trail.  He 
followed  them. 

Truth  to  tell,  Sefior  Johnson  had  very  little  idea 
of  what  he  was  going  to  do.  His  action  was  entirely 
instinctive.  The  wheel  tracks  held  to  the  southwest, 
so  he  held  to  the  southwest,  too. 

The  pony  hit  his  stride.  The  miles  slipped  by. 
After  seven  of  them  the  animal  slowed  to  a  walk. 
Senor  Johnson  allowed  him  to  get  his  wind,  then 


THE     CAPTURE  333 

spurred  him  on  again.  He  did  not  even  take  the 
ordinary  precautions  of  a  pursuer.  He  did  not  even 
glance  to  the  horizon  in  search. 

About  supper-time  he  came  to  the  first  ranch  house. 
There  he  took  a  bite  to  eat  and  exchanged  his  horse 
for  another,  a  favourite  of  his,  named  Button.  The 
two  men  asked  no  questions. 

"  See  Mrs.  Johnson  go  through  ?  "  asked  the  Senor 
from  the  saddle. 

"  Yes,  about  three  o'clock.  Brent  Palmer  driving 
her.  Bound  for  Willets  to  visit  the  preacher's  wife, 
she  said.  Ought  to  catch  up  at  the  Circle  I.  That's 
where  they'd  all  spend  the  night,  of  course.  So  long." 

Senor  Johnson  knew  now  the  couple  would  follow 
the  straight  road.  They  would  fear  no  pursuit.  He 
himself  was  supposed  not  to  return  for  a  week,  and 
the  story  of  visiting  the  minister's  wife  was  not  only 
plausible,  it  was  natural.  Jed  had  upset  calculations, 
because  Jed  was  shrewd,  and  had  eyes  in  his  head. 
Buck  Johnson's  first  mental  numbness  was  wearing 
away;  he  was  beginning  to  think. 

The  night  was  very  still  and  very  dark,  the  stars 
very  bright  in  their  candle-like  glow.  The  man,  lop 
ing  steadily  on  through  the  darkness,  recalled  that 


ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

other  night,  equally  still,  equally  dark,  equally 
starry,  when  he  had  driven  out  from  his  accustomed 
life  into  the  unknown  with  a  woman  by  his  side,  the 
sight  of  whom  asleep  had  made  him  feel  "  almost 
holy."  He  uttered  a  short  laugh. 

The  pony  was  a  good  one,  well  equal  to  twice  the 
distance  he  would  be  called  upon  to  cover  this  night. 
Seiior  Johnson  managed  him  well.  By  long  expe 
rience  and  a  natural  instinct  he  knew  just  how  hard 
to  push  his  mount,  just  how  to  keep  inside  the  point 
where  too  rapid  exhaustion  of  vitality  begins. 

Toward  the  hour  of  sunrise  he  drew  rein  to  look 
about  him.  The  desert,  till  now  wrapped  in  the 
thousand  little  noises  that  make  night  silence,  drew 
breath  in  preparation  for  the  awe  of  the  daily  won 
der.  It  lay  across  the  world  heavy  as  a  sea  of  lead, 
and  as  lifeless  ;  deeply  unconscious,  like  an  exhausted 
sleeper.  The  sky  bent  above,  the  stars  paling.  Far 
away  the  mountains  seemed  to  wait.  And  then,  im 
perceptibly,  those  in  the  east  became  blacker  and 
sharper,  while  those  in  the  west  became  faintly  lucent 
and  lost  the  distinctness  of  their  outline.  The  change 
was  nothing,  yet  everything.  And  suddenly  a  desert 
bird  sprang  into  the  air  and  began  to  sing. 


THE     CAPTURE 

Senor  Johnson  caught  the  wonder  of  it.  The 
wonder  of  it  seemed  to  him  wasted,  useless,  cruel 
in  its  effect.  He  sighed  impatiently,  and  drew  his 
hand  across  his  eyes. 

The  desert  became  grey  with  the  first  light  before 
the  glory.  In  the  illusory  revealment  of  it  Senor 
Johnson's  sharp  frontiersman's  eyes  made  out  an 
object  moving  away  from  him  in  the  middle  distance. 
In  a  moment  the  object  rose  for  a  second  against 
the  sky  line,  then  disappeared.  He  knew  it  to  be  the 
buckboard,  and  that  the  vehicle  had  just  plunged 
into  the  dry  bed  of  an  arroyo. 

Immediately  life  surged  through  him  like  an  elec 
tric  shock.  He  unfastened  the  riata  from  its  sling, 
shook  loose  the  noose,  and  moved  forward  in  the 
direction  in  which  he  had  last  seen  the  buckboard. 

At  the  top  of  the  steep  little  bank  he  stopped 
behind  the  mesquite,  straining  his  eyes;  luck  had 
been  good  to  him.  The  buckboard  had  pulled  up,  and 
Brent  Palmer  was  at  the  moment  beginning  a  little 
fire,  evidently  to  make  the  morning  coffee. 

Senor  Johnson  struck  spurs  to  his  horse  and  half 
slid,  half  fell,  clattering,  down  the  steep  clay  bank 
almost  on  top  of  the  couple  below. 


336  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Estrella  screamed.  Brent  Palmer  jerked  out  an 
oath,  and  reached  for  his  gun.  The  loop  of  the  riata 
fell  wide  over  him,  immediately  to  be  jerked  tight, 
binding  his  arms  tight  to  his  side. 

The  bronco-buster,  swept  from  his  feet  by  the 
pony's  rapid  turn,  nevertheless  struggled  desperately 
to  wrench  himself  loose.  Button,  intelligent  at  all 
rope  work,  walked  steadily  backward,  step  by  step, 
taking  up  the  slack,  keeping  the  rope  tight  as  he  had 
done  hundreds  of  times  before  when  a  steer  had 
struggled  as  this  man  was  struggling  now.  His  mas 
ter  leaped  from  the  saddle  and  ran  forward.  Button 
continued  to  walk  slowly  back.  The  riata  remained 
taut.  The  noose  held. 

Brent  Palmer  fought  savagely,  even  then.  He 
kicked,  he  rolled  over  and  over,  he  wrenched  violently 
at  his  pinioned  arms,  he  twisted  his  powerful  young 
body  from  Sefior  Johnson's  grasp  again  and  again. 
But  it  was  no  use.  In  less  than  a  minute  he  was  bound 
hard  and  fast.  Button  promptly  slackened  the  rope. 
The  dust  settled.  The  noise  of  the  combat  died.  Again 
could  be  heard  the  single  desert  bird  singing  against 
the  dawn. 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

IN    THE    ARROYO 

SENOR  JOHNSON  quietly  approached  Estrella.  The 
girl  had,  during  the  struggle,  gone  through  an  aim 
less  but  frantic  exhibition  of  terror.  Now  she  shrank 
back,  her  eyes  staring  wildly,  her  hands  behind  her, 
ready  to  flop  again  over  the  brink  of  hysteria. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  she  demanded,  her 
voice  unnatural. 

She  received  no  reply.  The  man  reached  out  and 
took  her  by  the  arm. 

And  then  at  once,  as  though  the  personal  contact 
of  the  touch  had  broken  through  the  last  crumb  of 
numbness  with  which  shock  had  overlaid  Buck  John 
son's  passions,  the  insanity  of  his  rage  broke  out. 
He  twisted  her  violently  on  her  face,  knelt  on  her 
back,  and,  with  the  short  piece  of  hard  rope  the 
cowboy  always  carries  to  "  hog-tie  "  cattle,  he  lashed 
her  wrists  together.  Then  he  arose  panting,  his 
square  black  beard  rising  and  falling  with  the  rise 
and  fall  of  his  great  chest. 

337 


338  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Estrella  had  screamed  again  and  again  until  her 
face  had  been  fairly  ground  into  the  alkali.  There 
she  had  choked  and  strangled  and  gasped  and  sobbed, 
her  mind  nearly  unhinged  with  terror.  She  kept  ap 
pealing  to  him  in  a  hoarse  voice,  but  could  get  no 
reply,  no  indication  that  he  had  even  heard.  This 
terrified  her  still  more.  Brent  Palmer  cursed  steadily 
and  accurately,  but  the  man  did  not  seem  to  hear  him 
either. 

The  tempest  had  broken  in  Buck  Johnson's  soul. 
When  he  had  touched  Estrella  he  had,  for  the  first 
time,  realised  what  he  had  lost.  It  was  not  the 
woman — her  he  despised.  But  the  dreams !  All  at 
once  he  knew  what  they  had  been  to  him — he  under 
stood  how  completely  the  very  substance  of  his  life 
had  changed  in  response  to  their  slow  soul-action. 
The  new  world  had  been  blasted — the  old  no  longer 
existed  to  which  to  return. 

Buck  Johnson  stared  at  this  catastrophe  until  his 
isight  blurred.  Why,  it  was  atrocious!  He  had  done 
nothing  to  deserve  it!  Why  had  they  not  left  him 
peaceful  in  his  own  life  of  cattle  and  the  trail?  He 
had  been  happy.  His  dull  eyes  fell  on  the  causes 
of  the  ruin. 


IN     THE     ARROYO  339 

And  then,  finally,  in  the  understanding  of  how 
he  had  been  tricked  of  his  life,  his  happiness,  his 
right  to  well-being,  the  whole  force  of  the  man's 
anger  flared.  Brent  Palmer  lay  there  cursing  him 
artistically.  That  man  had  done  it;  that  man  was 
in  his  power.  He  would  get  even.  How? 

Estrella,  too,  lay  huddled,  helpless  and  defenceless, 
at  his  feet.  She  had  done  it.  He  would  get  even. 
How? 

He  had  spoken  no  word.  He  spoke  none  now,  either 

in   answer   to   Estrella's   appeals,   becoming   piteous 

t 

in  their  craving  for  relief  from  suspense,  or  in  re 
sponse  to  Brent  Palmer's  steady  stream  of  insults 
and  vituperations.  Such  things  were  far  below.  The 
bitterness  and  anger  and  desolation  were  squeezing 
his  heart.  He  remembered  the  silly  little  row  of  po 
tatoes  sewn  in  the  green  hide  lying  along  the  top 
of  the  adobe  fence,  some  fresh  and  round,  some  drip 
ping  as  the  rawhide  contracted,  some  black  and  with 
ered  and  very  small.  A  fierce  and  savage  light  sprang 
into  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

THE    RAWHIDE 

FIRST  of  all  he  unhitched  the  horses  from  the  buck- 
board  and  turned  them  loose.  Then,  since  he  was 
early  trained  in  Indian  warfare,  he  dragged  Palmer 
to  the  wagon  wheel,  and  tied  him  so  closely  to  it 
that  he  could  not  roll  over.  For,  though  the  bronco- 
buster  was  already  so  fettered  that  his  only  possible 
movement  was  of  the  jackknife  variety,  neverthe 
less  he  might  be  able  to  hitch  himself  along  the 
ground  to  a  sharp  stone,  there  to  saw  through  the 
rope  about  his  wrists.  Estrella.  her  husband  held  in 
contempt.  He  merely  supplemented  her  wrist  bands 
by  one  about  the  ankles. 

Leisurely  he  mounted  Button  and  turned  up  the 
wagon  trail,  leaving  the  two.  Estrella  had  exhausted 
herself.  She  was  capable  of  nothing  more  in  the 
way  of  emotion.  Her  eyes  tight  closed,  she  in 
haled  in  deep,  trembling,  long-drawn  breaths,  and 
exhaled  with  the  name  of  her  Maker. 

340 


THE     RAWHIDE  341 

Brent  Palmer,  on  the  contrary,  was  by  no  means 
subdued.  He  had  expected  to  be  shot  in  cold  blood. 
Now  he  did  not  know  what  to  anticipate.  His  black, 
level  brows  drawn  straight  in  defiance,  he  threw  his 
curses  after  Johnson's  retreating  figure. 

The  latter,  however,  paid  no  attention.  He  had 
his  purposes.  Once  at  the  top  of  the  arroyo  he  took 
a  careful  survey  of  the  landscape,  now  rich  with 
dawn.  Each  excrescence  on  the  plain  his  half- 
squinted  eyes  noticed,  and  with  instant  skill  relegated 
to  its  proper  category  of  soap-weed,  mesquite,  cac 
tus.  At  length  he  swung  Button  in  an  easy  lope 
toward  what  looked  to  be  a  bunch  of  soap-weed  in  the 
middle  distance. 

But  in  a  moment  the  cattle  could  be  seen  plainly. 
Button  pricked  up  his  ears.  He  knew  cattle.  Now 
he  proceeded  tentatively,  lifting  high  his  little  hoofs 
to  avoid  the  half-seen  inequalities  of  the  ground  and 
the  ground's  growths,  wondering  whether  he  were  to 
be  called  on  to  rope  or  to  drive.  When  the  rider 
had  approached  to  within  a  hundred  feet,  the  cattle 
started.  Immediately  Button  understood  that  he 
was  to  pursue.  No  rope  swung  above  his  head,  so 
he  sheered  off  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  to  cut 


ARIZONA  NIGHTS 
ahead  of  the  bunch.  But  his  rider  with  knee  and 
rein  forced  him  in.  After  a  moment,  to  his  astonish 
ment,  he  found  himself  running  alongside  a  big  steer. 
Button  had  never  hunted  buffalo — Buck  Johnson 
had. 

The  Colt's  forty-five  barked  once,  and  then  again. 
The  steer  staggered,  fell  to  his  knees,  recovered,  and 
finally  stopped,  the  blood  streaming  from  his  nostrils. 
In  a  moment  he  fell  heavily  on  his  side — dead. 

Sefior  Johnson  at  once  dismounted  and  began 
methodically  to  skin  the  animal.  This  was  not  easy, 
for  he  had  no  way  of  suspending  the  carcass  nor 
of  rolling  it  from  side  to  side.  However,  he  was 
practised  at  it  and  did  a  neat  job.  Two  or  three 
times  he  even  caught  himself  taking  extra  pains 
that  the  thin  flesh  strips  should  not  adhere  to  the 
inside  of  the  pelt.  Then  he  smiled  grimly,  and  ripped 
it  loose. 

After  the  hide  had  been  removed  he  cut  from  the 
edge,  around  and  around,  a  long,  narrow  strip.  With 
this  he  bound  the  whole  into  a  compact  bundle, 
strapped  it  on  behind  his  saddle,  and  remounted.  He 
returned  to  the  arroyo. 

Estrella   still    lay    with    her    eyes    closed.     Brent 


THE     RAWHIDE 

t*almer  looked  up  keenly.  The  bronco-buster  saw  the 
green  hide.  A  puzzled  expression  crept  across  his. 
face. 

Roughly  Johnson  loosed  his  enemy  from  the  wheel 
and  dragged  him  to  the  woman.  He  passed  the  free 
end  of  the  riata  about  them  both,  tying  them  close 
together.  The  girl  continued  to  moan,  out  of  her- 
wits  with  terror. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  you  devil?  " 
demanded  Palmer,  but  received  no  reply. 

Buck  Johnson  spread  out  the  rawhide.  Putting 
forth  his  huge  strength,  he  carried  to  it  the  pair, 
bound  together  like  a  bale  of  goods,  and  laid  them 
on  its  cool  surface.  He  threw  across  them  the  edges, 
and  then  deliberately  began  to  wind  around  and. 
around  the  huge  and  unwieldy  rawhide  package  the 
strip  he  had  cut  from  the  edge  of  the  pelt. 

Nor  was  this  altogether  easy.  At  last  Brent 
Palmer  understood.  He  writhed  in  the  struggle  of 
desperation,  foaming  blasphemies.  The  uncouth  bun 
dle  rolled  here  and  there.  But  inexorably  the  other, 
from  the  advantage  of  his  position,  drew  the  thongs 
tighter. 

And    then,    all    at    once,    from    vituperation    the- 


344  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

bronco-buster  fell  to  pleading,  not  for  life,  but  for 
death. 

"  For  God's  sake,  shoot  me !  "  he  cried  from  within 
the  smothering  folds  of  the  rawhide.  "  If  you  ever 
had  a  heart  in  you,  shoot  me!  Don't  leave  me  here 
to  be  crushed  in  this  vise.  You  wouldn't  do  that  to 
a  yellow  dog.  An  Injin  wouldn't  do  that,  Buck.  It's 
a  joke,  isn't  it?  Don't  go  away  an'  leave  me,  Buck. 
I've  done  you  dirt.  Cut  my  heart  out,  if  you  want 
to ;  I  won't  say  a  word,  but  don't  leave  me  here  for 
the  sun " 

His  voice  was  drowned  in  a  piercing  scream,  as 
Estrella  came  to  herself  and  understood.  Always  the 
rawhide  had  possessed  for  her  an  occult  fascination 
and  repulsion.  She  had  never  been  able  to  touch  it 
without  a  shudder,  and  yet  she  had  always  been  drawn 
to  experiment  with  it.  The  terror  of  her  doom  had 
now  added  to  it  for  her  all  the  vague  and  premoni 
tory  terrors  which  heretofore  she  had  not  under 
stood. 

The  richness  of  the  dawn  had  flowed  to  the  west. 
Day  was  at  hand.  Breezes  had  begun  to  play  across 
the  desert;  the  wind  devils  to  raise  their  straight 
columns.  A  first  long  shaft  of  sunlight  shot  through 


THE     RAWHIDE  345 

a  pass  in  the  Chirlcahuas,  trembled  in  the  dust- 
moted  air,  and  laid  its  warmth  on  the  rawhide.  Senor 
Johnson  roused  himself  from  his  gloom  to  speak 
his  first  words  of  the  episode. 

"  There,  damn  you !  "  said  he.  "  I  guess  you'll  be 
close  enough  together  now ! " 

He  turned  away  to  look  for  his  horse. 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

THE   DESERT 

BUTTON  was  a  trusty  of  Seiior  Johnson's  private  ani 
mals.  He  was  never  known  to  leave  his  master  in 
the  lurch,  and  so  was  habitually  allowed  certain  priv 
ileges.  Now,  instead  of  remaining  exactly  on  the 
spot  where  he  was  "  tied  to  the  ground,"  he  had 
wandered  out  of  the  dry  arroyo  bed  to  the  upper 
level  of  the  plains,  where  he  knew  certain  bunch 
grasses  might  be  found.  Buck  Johnson  climbed  the 
steep  wooded  bank  in  search  of  him. 

The  pony  stood  not  ten  feet  distant.  At  his  mas 
ter's  abrupt  appearance  he  merely  raised  his  head, 
a  wisp  of  grass  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  without 
attempting  to  move  away.  Buck  Johnson  walked 
confidently  to  him,  fumbling  in  his  side  pocket 
for  the  piece  of  sugar  with  which  he  habitually 
soothed  Button's  sophisticated  palate.  His  hand 
ecountered  Estrella's  letter.  He  drew  it  out  and 
opened  it. 

346 


THE    DESERT  347 

"Dear  Buck,"  it  read,  "I  am  going  away.  I 
tried  to  be  good,  but  I  can't.  It's  too  lonesome  for 
me.  I'm  afraid  of  the  horses  and  the  cattle  and  the 
men  and  the  desert.  I  hate  it  all.  I  tried  to  make  you 
see  how  I  felt  about  it,  but  you  couldn't  seem  to 
see.  I  know  you'll  never  forgive  me,  but  I'd  go  crazy 
here.  I'm  almost  crazy  now.  I  suppose  you  think 
I'm  a  bad  woman,  but  I  am  not.  You  won't  believe 
that.  Its'  true  though.  The  desert  would  make  any 
one  bad.  I  don't  see  how  you  stand  it.  You've  been 
good  to  me,  and  I've  really  tried,  but  it's  no  use. 
The  country  is  awful.  I  never  ought  to  have  come. 
I'm  sorry  you  are  going  to  think  me  a  bad  woman, 
for  I  like  you  and  admire  you,  but  nothing,  noth 
ing  could  make  me  stay  here  any  longer."  She 
signed  herself  simply  Estrella  Sands,  her  maiden 
name. 

Buck  Johnson  stood  staring  at  the  paper  for  a 
much  longer  time  than  was  necessary  merely  to  ab 
sorb  the  meaning  of  the  words.  His  senses,  sharpened 
by  the  stress  of  the  last  sixteen  hours,  were  trying 
mightily  to  cut  to  the  mystery  of  a  change  going 
on  within  himself.  The  phrases  of  the  letter  were  - 
bald  enough,  yet  they  conveyed  something  vital  : 


348  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

to  his  inner  being.  He  could  not  understand 
what  it  was. 

Then  abruptly  he  raised  his  eyes. 

Before  him  lay  the  desert,  but  a  desert  suddenly 
and  miraculously  changed,  a  desert  he  had  never 
seen  before.  Mile  after  mile  it  swept  away  before 
him,  hot,  dry,  suffocating,  lifeless.  The  sparse  vege 
tation  was  grey  with  the  alkali  dust.  The  heat  hung 
choking  in  the  air  like  a  curtain.  Lizards  sprawled 
in  the  sun,  repulsive.  A  rattlesnake  dragged  its 
loathsome  length  from  under  a  mesquite.  The  dried 
carcass  of  a  steer,  whose  parchment  skin  drew  tight 
across  its  bones,  rattled  in  the  breeze.  Here  and 
there  rock  ridges  showed  with  the  obscenity  of  so 
many  skeletons,  exposing  to  the  hard,  cruel  sky  the 
earth's  nakedness.  Thirst,  delirium,  death,  hovered 
palpable  in  the  wind;  dreadful,  unconquerable, 
ghastly. 

The  desert  showed  her  teeth  and  lay  in  wait  like 
a  fierce  beast.  The  little  soul  of  man  shrank  in  ter 
ror  before  it. 

Buck  Johnson  stared,  recalling  the  phrases  of  the 
letter,  recalling  the  words  of  his  foreman,  Jed  Par 
ker.  «  It's  too  lonesome  for  me,"  "  I'm  afraid,"  "  I 


THE     DESERT  349 

hate  it  all,"  "  I'd  go  crazy  here,"  "  The  desert  would 
make  anyone  bad,"  "  The  country  is  awful."  And 
the  musing  voice  of  the  old  cattleman,  "  I  wonder 
if  she'll  like  the  country ! "  They  reiterated  them 
selves  over  and  over;  and  always  as  refrain  his  own 
confident  reply,  "Like  the  country?  Sure!  Why 
shouldn't  she?" 

And  then  he  recalled  the  summer  just  passing, 
and  the  woman  who  had  made  no  fuss.  Chance  re 
marks  of  hers  eame  back  to  him,  remarks  whose 
meaning  he  had  not  at  the  time  grasped,  but  which 
now  he  saw  were  desperate  appeals  to  his  under 
standing.  He  had  known  his  desert.  He  had  never 
known  hers. 

With  an  exclamation  Buck  Johnson  turned  ab 
ruptly  back  to  the  arroyo.  Button  followed  him, 
mildly  curious,  certain  that  his  master's  reappear 
ance  meant  a  summons  for  himself. 

Down  the  miniature  cliff  the  man  slid,  confidently, 
without  hesitation,  sure  of  himself.  His  shoulders 
held  squarely,  his  step  elastic,  his  eye  bright,  he 
walked  to  the  fearful,  shapeless  bundle  now  lying 
motionless  on  the  flat  surface  of  the  alkali. 

Brent  Palmer  had  fallen  into  a  grim  silence,  but 


350  ARIZONA     NIGHTS 

Estrella  still  moaned.  The  cattleman  drew  his  knife 
and  ripped  loose  the  bonds.  Immediately  the  flaps 
of  the  wet  rawhide  fell  apart,  exposing  to  the  new 
daylight  the  two  bound  together.  Buck  Johnson 
leaned  over  to  touch  the  woman's  shoulder. 

"  Estrella,"  said  he  gently. 

Her  eyes  came  open  with  a  snap,  and  stared  into 
his,  wild  with  the  surprise  of  his  return. 

"  Estrella,"  he  repeated,  "  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

She  gulped  down  a  sob,  unable  to  comprehend  the 
purport  of  his  question. 

"How  old  are  you,  Estrella?  "  he  repeated  again. 

"  Twenty-one,"  she  gasped  finally. 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  then  be 
gan  methodically,  without  haste,  to  cut  loose  the 
thongs  that  bound  the  two  together. 

When  the  man  and  the  woman  were  quite  freed, 
he  stood  for  a  moment,  the  knife  in  his  hand,  looking 
down  on  them.  Then  he  swung  himself  into  the  sad 
dle  and  rode  away,  straight  down  the  narrow  arroyo, 
out  beyond  its  lower  widening,  into  the  vast  plains 
the  hither  side  of  the  Chiricahuas.  The  alkali  dust 
was  snatched  by  the  wind  from  beneath  his  horse's 


THE     DESERT  651 

feet.  Smaller  and  smaller  he  dwindled,  rising  and 
falling,  rising  and  falling  in  the  monotonous  cow- 
pony's  lope.  The  heat  shimmer  veiled  him  for  a 
moment,  but  he  reappeared.  A  mirage  concealed 
him,  but  he  emerged  on  the  other  side  of  it.  Then 
suddenly  he  was  gone.  The  desert  had  swallowed 
him  up. 


TOE  EN£> 


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.T1 


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